January 2009 - Posts
A Topic for as long as I can remember.
One man went under the back of the dray on his knees and pulled the hitch pin, it was a bit tight but he managed, only to realise that the load and the tractor had started to move forwards away from him.
Over the years I have had upwards of fifteen school leavers, some starting while still at school, but every one without exception had some sort of bump or miner accident on the way. I recall one who was loading strawy box muck by hand with me, before we had fore end loaders. To get a bigger load this lad jumped on the top to level out the load way above the trailer side boards, but just above him was a pair of electric wires, very old and ragged insulation. He stood up and caught the back of his head on the wires and he dropped like a stone right into the pile of muck we were loading. He was okay but wondered what had hit him, and it turned out to be one of many near misses that lad was to have. After a number of road crashes he got killed at the age of twenty two, by just shear speed.
Way back in my twenties I recall taking a Friesian bull up the lane about half a mile, he was always all right to lead in the yard , but as we got nearer to the field of heifers in the distance he started to bounce, and picked up speed and I still clung onto him. Then being along side of his shoulder I was getting pushed toward a steep hedge bank, on top of the hedge bank was a three foot hawthorn hedge, some eight foot in all. Next thing I knew I was standing the other side of that hedge still hanging on to the long chain that I was leading him by. Basically I had run along side of the bank gradually being pushed higher up it, and with the speed I had thankfully cleared the hedge on top. I have used that lane all the years since and can never come to terms of how I cleared that height, but when you are in a tight spot, its surprising what you are capable of. Fortunately I was not on the end of his horns.
One of the most dangerous things that lads tended to do is to hitch a tow chain to the top link point on the tractor. In the days I am talking about there were no cabs or roll bars, so a rearing tractor would turn over backward flat onto the driver in the spilt of a second. I made a point of never leaving the top link pin in place and not send any lad out with a chain.
Another lad had a narrow escape when he was out with the rota spreader, he drove the wrong way round the field, in other words he drove on the slurry that had been spread from the previous load, and on going up a slight gradient and along side of the slope as well, the spreader started to swing sideways directly towards a steep drop, the tractor start wheel slip and also hung back in the same direction, then the whole outfit was sliding backward and gathering speed. This I witnessed with my own eyes from the distance, and saw it all disappear down the steep drop, the whole thing stayed in line and as it came to a stop the front of the tractor whipped round into a jack-knife. No damage was done, the lad hung onto the steering wheel and stayed in the seat, it was one of those thing that you can see from the distance, and could predict what was going to happen, but could do dam all about it.
As a lad myself on that same slope a gang of us were loading loose hay onto a four wheel dray towing a hay loader behind it (A Pitcher). This was before we had a baler and before contractor balers were about, we were just going down this same slope, when the pitcher blocked. Two men were on the load and I (the lad) was driving the tractor, so I stopped and got off to help unblock the blockage. Both men jumped down off the near full load and decided that the pitcher had got to be tilted forwards onto its nose. One man went under the back of the dray on his knees and pulled the hitch pin, it was a bit tight but he managed, only to realise that the load and the tractor was moving away from him. Nothing was said but he thought I was on the tractor until he looked and saw me behind the pitcher helping to unblock it. NO ONE was on the tractor. By this time it was nearly up to running speed and heading for this steep slope, fortunately the one chap had a good turn of speed and mounted the drawbar and reached forwards and turned the steering wheel across the slope and it all came to a stop. The tractor did have a parking brake but it had not been applied, the pitcher mechanism was wheel driven and being blocked held the outfit when we stopped. Moral of this story is to always apply the parking brake every time you get off.
To see one of these Hay Loaders working, tap in "Hay Loader" into Google and there is a You Tube clip of Mormons working an almost identical thing that we used to have.
Another example, one about my grand daughter and the ride on lawn mower a couple of years ago. At the age of twelve she was getting very keen to learn to drive and the only thing I would let her drive then was the lawn mower. Set her going, showing he the gears the clutch and throttle. After ten minuets it was only top gear and only full throttle. This went on for quite a few weekends until one afternoon she came walking /limping back to the house. On investigation she had mistook the turning circle of the mower and still going at full throttle had rammed it full speed ( about seven miles per hour)under the back of a parked tipping trailer.
The mower is one of those with a racy sloping tapered front so wedge very tight under the back cross member. She had slid up the seat and bumped her knees and the steering wheel had gone into her tummy. The mower was recovered with a scratched bonnet, and the grand daughter had a very severely dented pride, and bruised knees. It was a thing she will always remember and a good lesson learned without too much grief.
I won't let her drive the old tractors, the ones with no cab and no roll bar, she now has learned to drive the Agrotron and is very happy about that as it has a good radio and tape player. Its still got its doors and still got all its windows, the foot pedals are light and easy for her to use, the seat and the steering wheel both adjust, so she customises them, and now got used where all the gears are, and four wheel drive is just a rocker switch. The only thing I cannot get her to learn is when turning (chain harrowing) at the end of the field, on short ground turn away from the ditch and circle into the field. Turning towards the ditch you have got to judge your turning circle very accurately or you will soon be in the ditch.
The farm Stores and Spares Department
This one is about my workshop, and the pile of tools that are thrown on the bench some of which missed, a bit of clear floor space to walk up the middle, and off cut and other items deemed to be too good to throw away are saved and left where they land. Only I know where everything is, it's just a matter of finding it.
Axle Stand and his Mate Jack
Axle Stand and his mate, Hydraulic Jack,
Live in the workshop, right at the back,
When they're called out, together they work,
Lifting things heavy, they call it teamwork.
Adjustable Spanner, he lives hanging on nail,
Expected to fit every nut, in the box he assail,
He's first responder, carried into the field
No hammer to hand, a thraping to weald.
Poor old Hack he looses teeth from his blade,
Abused and used to cut anything for what he's not made,
Hack Saw gets hacked off, thrown on the bench,
Landing on top of him, a great heavy old wrench.
Open and Ring Spanner, Siamese twins in the tools,
Kept in a rolled bag, with pocket like modules,
Twenty of them, all different sizes,
Clean and in line should win all the prizes.
Pillar the drill , stands aloof in the corner,
His own leg to the floor, and quite a loner,
His energy comes down, a wire from the switch,
Grips bit in his chuck, turns quick without glitch.
Ball Pane is Hammer, comes in a good many sizes,
Large for the blacksmith, hot metal he teases
Small one that the Mrs. keep's, in the cupboard draw,
And ones in between, working all have loud guffaw.
Claw is another member, of the same clan,
Pull bent nails, blame the hammer and not man,
Soon break the stale, when pulled and abused,
Thrown onto the side, no stale and unused.
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.
Contryman
It is one of the worst errors to suppose that there is any path for safety except that of duty
William Nevins
I remember during the war, and after for a while,
Everyone had ration books, cues could stretched a mile,
In the village it was not too bad, as contraband it moved,
Under the policeman's nose, the law they disapproved.
Fire was always a major hazard near the railway lines, a cinder blown out of the chimney with the smoke of the old steam engines, would land in a bit of dry grass and catch fire; this would burn with a bit of following wind up the embankment quite often burning the fence on the way.
Father had a field of wheat ready for the binder, but before he got to it the wind had blown fire through the fence into twelve acre standing crop, and nothing anyone could do to stop it once it got hold. On another occasion it was a field of hay that he and the men had been working in all day, and were aiming to collect it after evening milking, this was done with a hay sweep fitted on the front of fathers Standard Fordson, the crop being pushed up to a stack in the middle of the field. But when we went to the field it was just black smouldering stubble, it had all burnt except in a couple of corners, the half stack of hay left over from the previous year had gone as well.
The lengths men who worked along the railway line, try to keep the embankments cut, and burnt off in a controlled way, but sometimes a cinder would do it for them when no one was about.
It was these same lengths men who would hop over the railway fence and load the farm wagons with shoffs of corn, father would make sure he took down plenty of pitch forks as there was five or six in the gang. The cart was loaded in about five minuets flat, and off back to the farm with his load drawn behind his Standard Fordson, and back with the next one in half an hour.
No money seemed to change hands, but eggs, taters, and other produce on ration was exchanged for work done, and the main meeting for these exchanges was the home guard meeting at the Village hall.
The railway "lengths men" were a gang of about six men who maintained the railway tracks and fences on their length between half way to Stafford and half way to Norton Bridge based at Great Bridgeford. Father got to know them well as they were also in the home guard.
When father was cutting large field of corn they would hop over the fence for half an hour and help stook the corn, with a gang like that it soon got done. It was the same again when it came to loading the shoffs of corn from the stooks. Father always took down plenty of pitch forks in anticipation, and they knew when to be working close by. No money changed hands but he gave them plenty of taters and eggs and in the case of the engine driver he got half a pig.
The Home Guard Contraband
The railway line it ran through, some of father's land,
He got to know the railway men, quite a happy band,
They were in the home guard and all the farm men too,
They often jumped over the fence, to load a wagon or two.
For this he gave them taters, or anything they hadn't got,
Often at the home guard meetings, the sergeant got forgot,
For this is where it all changed hands, just behind his back,
If they ever got found out, they'd be on the rack.
An engine driver was among them, he'd got what we want,
He slowed his train by the field, tender full of coal he flaunt,
Every morning at nine thirty, rolled off big lumps of coal,
Father loaded it on his cart, this man he did extol.
A coal house full of best steam coal, mother to do the cookin,
Big bright fire that roared round flue, she was so pleased herein,
Only cost a half a pig, its contraband you see,
Delivered by dad and Eric in a coffin, the law could not foresee.
Countryman
Talking about war time rationing, I still have my own old ration book, and it still has a fair amount of coupons still in it. On looking it still has nearly all the sweet coupons, most of the tea coupons are used and the cheese and fats and sugar coupons. There no meat coupons left, but mother took all the books with her and tended to use all the coupons out of one book before she picked up the next, but then you should not use coupons in advance of the date. So she must have saved up and got a "stock" of coupons in the various books. This book is for the year May 1953 through to May 1954 but then some time early in that period rationing must have been withdrawn and rationing ended.
There is twenty six pages in the book and on the front has a F.O. CODE No. M - J - 1 and a serial no. AT 565118 Ministry of Food the my name and address.
We had our own eggs and milk, and early on in the war mother would make cheese and butter, and very occasionally she would make some bread.
Refer you to Blog 22.08.08 ( press the Tag "Weather")The Weather Forecast by Owd Fred's Mother at the bottom is "I remember Mothers Pantry"
Now Eric had a Big Car
I remember during the war, and after for a while,
Everyone had ration books, cues could stretched a mile,
In the village it was not too bad, as contraband it moved,
Under the policeman's nose, the law they disapproved.
Now Eric had a big car, with a carrier on the back,
And when someone died, the coffin he'd take on rack,
Covered in a black cloth, everyone knew what it was,
From the wheelwrights' shop, no attention draws.
The coffin it was just made, no lining did it have,
Father had just killed a pig, in exchange for coal he halved,
Laid the half pig in the coffin, for transport to his mate,
Then lined the coffin and delivered, just a little late.
Countryman
The village wheelwright made the coffins and dug the graves and laid people out, read the two wheelwright blogs by touching the tag "Wheelwright" in the left hand column
Education is not the filling of the pail, but the lighting of the fire.
W.B.Yeats
Philip had a tremendous scramble to get us out, I know I was first out and standing by on my own in a daze, and after a short while my younger brother Robert emerged all muddy an shaken.
In winter time father grew Kale, to be used up to the turn of the year, after that the cows went onto mangels that were kept safe in a covered hog to protect them from the frost.
The kale was Marrow Stem and drilled early April it would grow up to six foot high, as the name suggests over half the feed was in the centre of the stem, the marrow.
This was cut by hand and loaded in the afternoon by the cowman onto a flat four wheeled dray pulled by one of fathers shire horses, then thrown out onto a grass field near to the sheds for the cows to go out for exercise the following morning and brows their ration of kale.
Cows in them days were all tied in stalls and only went out once a day in winter, so the sheds could be cleaned out and bedded up properly.
Some days we would go with the cowman Philip, he was only a young chap in his twenties, and a bit of a reckless driver (of the horse), like turning the horse and the front turntable of the dray quarter turn and the horse would snatch to get the load moving, on this one occasion tipping the load onto its side.
That would not have been too disastrous only my brother and I were buried under the load. I believe Philip had a tremendous scramble to get us out, I know I was first out and standing by on my own in a daze, and after a short while my brother emerged all muddy an shaken. On the way home we were sworn to secrecy on what had happed not to tell our father ( the old chap as Philip called him) or he might have got cussed in no uncertain terms. The secret was kept and Philip kept his job for another twenty years.
To Cut and Cart the Kale
We used to go with cowman Philip, to cut and put out the kale,
This was done with horse and flat dray, come sun or snow or hail,
Half and hour to chop the stems, and fell them in a row,
Then load them up, stems to the middle, cold its' down to zero.
Old Flower she turns and pulls, hard as she goes to the gate,
Through muddy ruts we had to walk, for a ride we had to wait,
We were not very big and had to be lifted up on top of the load,
Down hill now all the way home, a half a mile on the road.
Into the turf close to the farm, throw the stems off in the field,
Cows to eat the following day, and hope to improve their yield,
Winter feeding of the dairy herd, a never ending job,
Nice to get into warm cowsheds, cows in their bedding flop.
On this one day when we were with him, loading up the kale,
Turned old Flower, tipped the load, such a sorry tale,
Slid the load of Kale off, all over me and my brother,
Philip dug fast to find us, as under the load we'd smother,
We were OK a little dazed, soon came round and recovered,
Squared the horse and wagon, to load up again we staggered,
On the way home Philip asked us, not to tell the old chap,
Father never knew why, we were covered in mud in a mishap.
Countryman
On the way up to the kale field with Philip he stopped ( he may have stopped before when he was on his own ) under an overhanging nut bush, he pulled old Dolly the shire well over onto the grass verge and well up under the hedge and stopped well under the thick of a good crop of hazel nuts.
He had the long cutting hook that he cut the kale with, and pulled down those nuts that would otherwise be out of reach, we were already standing on the wagon. As kids this was exiting as we filled our pockets and Philip cracked some for us to eat. Then a loud voice came from the big house across the grassy orchard, "oooyyyy what are you up to", they had seen the bushes swaying about and came out to investigate. We all went flat on the wagon and flapped the reigns on old Dolly's back and we were off. They knew who it was and what we were up to, and as no damage had been done nothing was ever said. But they never realised how many nuts we had got.
I Remember Philip Boulton.
At the Beeches we had a cowman, his name was Philip Boulton,
He liked his beer at weekend , was at the pub quite often,
Lived in a cottage by the shop, front door opened from the pavement,
It had low doors and ceilings, and dormer window casements.
Only a young chap just got married, and never learned to drive,
Went everywhere on his bike, except the pub till he'd revive,
The bike it had low handle bars, and a dynamo driven headlight,
A sad a crumpled saddle bag, nothing in it to excite.
He always wore a bib and brace overall, and a singlet vest,
Even in the winter time, when working bared his chest,
Wellintons or wellies, with turned down tops so short,
Even in the summer time, no working boots to sport.
A round faced man, hair combed flat back,
Receding over each temple, and he never wore a hat,
What few teeth he had, dentist ventualy pulled the lot,
And a full set of dentures fitted, no more for him the rot.
He looked after all the cows, fed and milked them all,
In the winter had some help cleaning out the stalls,
Often us lads would carry milk, to the dairy there to cool,
Filling up the churns for transport, before and after school.
He'd harness up the horse, on afternoons in winter,
Cut and load kale onto the wagon, he was quite a sprinter,
Throw it out around the field, next day for the cows,
They're turned out for exercise, and the kale to browse.
For many years he stayed with us, until he saw more money,
A factory job and no weekend, he left in such a hurry,
His cottage was never used again, pulled down to pile of rubble,
Bungalow built on the site, back off the pavement out of trouble
Countryman
Being a drinking man he frequented the Holly Bush pub two or three evenings a week only just up the road. When, as kids we occasionally called at his cottage, we would be offered a cup of tea, but not cups as we were used to, these were pint sized, he had nothing smaller.
There was a little cast iron stove with the huge kettle boiling hanging from a hook on the chimney crane, his toasting fork that he or his wife would poke or re-arrange the logs on the fire, and a square table in the middle of the small room covered with a colourful piece of worn oilcloth. Each side of the fire was what passed for arm two chairs, any one else had to sit on the old wooden kitchen chairs. In front of the fire for the kids to sit on was the peg rug made out of strips of cloth from worm out clothing.
I think the house had been built before the roadside pavement had been established because from his front door you stepped down a step into the house, the door opened directly onto the pavement. The doors could not have been much more than five foot six and inside the beams in the living room come kitchen no more the six foot.
I suppose in them day's people were not so tall, or maybe it was the estate thought they would save bricks by only building a cottage with very low rooms. As I remember it , it was the only cottage that had round edge (feather edged) tiles on the roof, quite fancy for a farm cottage, and what's the betting that the tiles had come off another larger house that had perhaps been demolished. Who knows?
Remember, people will judge you by your actions, not your intentions. You may have a heart of gold - but so does a hard boiled egg.
Unknown
The roses get the green fly, the taters get the blight,
The cabbage get the caterpillars, what a blooming sight,
Apples there are plenty, grub hole in every one,
Birds have pecked the plums, the rot it has begun.
About twenty years ago, my misses was keen to earn a bit of money running her own business. She was very good, nay I must say excellent with old people, and there seemed to be a niche for country people wanting accommodation in rest homes but not wanting to go into a built up areas of the town.
So without any formal training we set about converting three rooms of our house into an "old people's rest home".
With no advertising we had our first old lady Anne, who had suffered a stroke and was not safe to live on her own. As it turned out Anne lasted the whole time that we run this rest home, (fifteen years) she was the first and was also the last, and received he letter from the QUEEN and went on to be one hundred and one. Really it was a sad end for her as she slipped off her chair one evening and broke the main bone in her leg half way up her shin, from which she did not last long in hospital, we think it was this MRSA business, the flesh eating bug that got her. In the fifteen years we have had three gentle men and eight ladies who had enjoyed their last years of their lives with us.
One of the exceptional character we had was John Ecclestone, John had farmed all his life and was in his element tutoring me on how to run the farm. He had been a resident at a big nursing home in town and kept "running away" just to be able to see some fields. They had to send staff out in their cars looking for him almost every day. He was a man who milked cows and got up early all his life, and was up and away and off outside before breakfast, often lunch time before he was found.
John's daughter was at her whit's end with worry, as they had started to ring her to come looking for her dad. Then she heard of what we were doing at Yews Farm, and came to suss us out, but of course with only three residents, we were full. So we were asked if she could send her dad John when we had a vacancy.
Eventually John came as a resident on the farm, he liked to count and keep an eye on the cattle just down the road, they were suckler cows getting close to calving. He would tidy up the troughs along the bull beef sheds. And every morning he loaded up a wheel barrow with timber so full I could only just push it, this was for my log / straw burning boiler that heated the house.
However this wore him out by lunch time and he rested all afternoon, but he was as happy as a dog with two tails. At Mid morning at ten thirty we always have a coffee break, but John was always too dam busy to stop work, so his coffee was taken out to him. The ruck of timber that he worked at was by the end of an old cowshed, and in the end of this shed we put an old arm chair, this tempted him to sit down to have his coffee, after all he was in his eighties, sometimes he fell asleep then had to rouse him for lunch much to his embarrassment of sleeping on the job.
John took his jobs seriously and would start promptly at nine am, but this one day he realised there were some rats lodging in his wood ruck, so came across the yard to fetch Matt, my son, with his ferrets, Matt and john put the most reliable ferret down to find its way through the wood pile, and they could see a some rats moving about so they got a stick apiece and started prodding into the pile, shouting with excitement every time one was spotted , but I think John must have prodded the ferret by mistake as the ferret jumped out of the wood and bit John on the ankle, this did not deter old John as he was well used to bumps and bangs through his farming life.
But what he had not bargained for was the he was on tablets that thinned his blood, and when he bled it would not clot as normal. So half an hour later, when they came in for lunch John's boot was literally full of blood. Of coarse my misses who is responsible for him thought he had lost his foot, then pulled the blood soaked boot and sock off and washed his foot, then could then see it was just a small bite, then applied some antiseptic and a plaster, but John had lost a lot of blood and was pale, Matt and I and John was told off about recklessly hunting rats with ferrets, particularly with a very elderly gentle man who was very unsteady on his feet. It must have brought back happy memories for John as after that we laughed many times about his ratting escapade, and it was only later that his daughter found out, but by then even she could see the funny side.
On another occasion the local hunt was to meet on the village green right outside our front wicket, John in his lifetime had always been a keen follower of the hunt so was keen to go onto the green to see the meet. There were many folk he new and all came talking to him, we took him a seat and his morning coffee out, then after a short while the hunt moved off to draw the first covert. When the girls helping went out to fetch him in again, John was missing, we thought at first he must have gone with the other hunt followers who were on foot up into St Chads church yard, where they always went where there was a grand stand view of the hounds in full cry when they drew the first wood.
Matt and I went to look in the church yard when all the spectators were getting into their cars, but no one had seen John, we went all round the grave stones thinking he may have fell down, because we knew he could not get up again without help.
An hour had gone by and his lunch was ready and the misses was getting extremely worried for his safety, and after another half hour she rang his daughter. There were three of us searching all round the farm and the village, and even further afield in a cars but still he could not be found. Much later in the afternoon a car drew into our yard, and out stepped John, it was only his old mate Tom (in his eighties) from years ago, had seen him, and John had got into his car without telling anyone, they had had a good three hours of following the hunt. When ask was he hungry, he said he had some of Tom's and a drink from his flask. It was a relief that he was okay and not hurt in any way, try to explain that to the council care people, and about the rat bite.
Now being so active in his mind John hankered for a four wheel scooter battery powered so he could get out and about under his own steam, this was all right but when we realised where he wanted to go, some of it was along a main road with no pavements, the thought of him in his buggy going at five miles per hour, and traffic passing him at over fifty miles per hour that was not on. His intention was to visit his daughter some seven miles away, this was what he had done when he drove his car every week but they had to stop him from driving for his own safety, so John did not get his scooter.
In the garden we had a couple of rows of strawberries, and John I remember from years ago on his farm had a very tidy and productive garden, so John decided he would weed among the strawberries for us with a hoe. He was watched carefully from the kitchen window to see he was okay, and then at the next moment he was in the rows on his hands and knees. This went on for nearly the next hour, then it was realised that he had fell down, and while he was down he just kept on weeding.
He was very independent, and did not like asking for help from a woman, even to be helped back onto his feet, so he just kept busy.
John told us tales of his first small farm called Spurly Brook, where he and his wife milked cows by hand with the cowshed directly connected to the house, He was able to step out of his kitchen into the cowshed, but unfortunately the cowshed was at the top side of the house, so the urine dropped by the cows drained in an open gully through the house kitchen. This must have been very basic living and in the 1920's . Bet he kept that gully well washed out.
It was a very sad day when John had to go for an operation on his throat, it got that he could not swallow solid food. It was arranged that his daughter would pick him up at 11am, so John went out do his normal chores - fill the wheel barrow full of timber for me to take to the boiler house, then in again to get changed ready for his hospital appointment.
We weren't to know that that was the last time we should see John, as the operation was a very risky one that he never recovered from. He was a hard working and cheerful man all his life and for him to load that wheel barrow before he went into hospital meant he had work every day of his life, right to his last day at our home. It was an absolute privilege for us to have had such a gentleman, who would talk all about his life and be our adviser in many ways other than farming as well.
Hears to the memory of John Ecclestone he would have loved to have read this one about gardening.
Gardening as a Pastime
The lawns are mowed the grass removed, starve it if you can,
Start in March or sooner, cut it twice a week's the plan,
Grows like mad till the summer, then brown and crusty goes,
Precious water sprinkled on, the time and cost who knows.
Had the mower sharpened, through mole hills it has cut,
They're only after earth worms, to fill their little gut,
Got to have a blow hole, to push the soil out,
Maize of tunnels under the lawn, so tough and black and stout.
The roses get the green fly, the taters get the blight,
The cabbage get the caterpillars, what a blooming sight,
Apples there are plenty, grub hole in every one,
Birds have pecked the plums, the rot it has begun.
The wasps are round the jam pot, flies around the meat,
Its summertime enjoy it, try getting out the heat,
Cooler in the evenings, sit in the garden to relax,
Midges bite your arms and legs, round ya head attacks.
Cut the hedge about three times, clearing up the leaves,
Hawthorne holly and brambles, full of thorns it heaves,
Fingers sore and bleeding, enjoy the job they say,
Out in fresh air and sunshine, all this work no pay.
Nettles in the corners, tackle then if you dare,
Just the lightest touch from one, it'll make you swear,
Cut they come again times ten, fresh and green as ever,
Save them for the butterflies, neglect'll mek ya look clever.
Green fingers what a laugh, muck builds up under nails,
It keeps you fit and healthy, keeps ya weight off the scales,
Organically grown is good for you, but pests they are a pest,
Work with nature is what they say; you can only do your best.
Countryman
Those who bring sunshine into the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.
James M Barrie (1860- 1937 )
The tractor getting worn and old, its steering getting stiff,
On every blooming corner, became a bigger loop and if
Only it would straiten up, and not run corn down,
Father on the binder would be warring his worst frown.
One foot was still in a loop of rope
I remember as a kid of six or seven how we loved to have a ride on the empty trailers back to the field to be loaded. On this occasion I had just missed my chance for a ride and I was on my own, when I though I would run and catch up and climb onto the back end of the wagon.
This was drawn by the Standard Fordson driven by my father, and with the noise of the engine I could not get his attention. When carting the shoffs of corn (wheat) it had got to be roped on as it had got to travel across five fields and gateways, and the ropes were always wrapped up, drawn together in large loops and bound round the top with the last bit and hung under the back of each trailer.
When I caught up with the outfit, I thought I could put my foot in the swinging rope and claw myself up the backend of the gormers and onto the trailer. But it did not turn out like that at all, having slipped with my grip I fell backwards to the ground, it was only a few inches off the ground, but fell. Trouble was one foot was still in a loop of rope and it started dragging me across the fields, my god it was lumpy, and the old Fordson could only go at eight miles per hour (thank goodness). I rolled this way and that, I curled up to try and free me foot time and again with no luck. Eventually one of dads helpers saw my dilemma and stopped him, all he did was to unhook my foot, put me across his knee and gave me four of five good smacks across my back side to teach me a lesson, across a back side that was already battered and bruised from the drag, it was one lesson well learned.
I Remember Father bought a tractor
Father bought a tractor, to help the horses out,
Twas a green Standard Fordson, bit noisy had to shout,
Spade lug wheels iron up front, to give it grip in mud,
War time demanded ,plough up grass,to grow a lot more spud.
Winter ploughing with a tractor, quicker it would be,
But colder with the sitting, and no walking so you see,
You cannot have it both ways, to hurry was a must,
So on with army great coat, a hat and scarf, no dust.
We came to move to Seighford, to spade lugs he fitted bands,
To stop the lumpy driving, from Doxey, need many hands,
Lot of road work at the Beeches, up to furthest fields,
Rubber tyres then were fitted, with the higher yields,
As the years went by, we lads we kept on growing,
We learned to drive the tractor, as trailers men were loading
It progressed on to bindering, to cut the corn make sheaves,
The men were all occupied, to stook the corn till eve.
The tractor getting worn and old, its steering getting stiff,
On every blooming corner, became a bigger loop and if
Only it would straiten up, and not run corn down,
Father on the binder would be warring his worst frown.
His anger at a driving era, was there for all to see,
If the whip he had for horses, it would soon be used on me,
It soon became apparent, that, good driving is a must,
At each and every corner, the steering to adjust.
Countyman
As we progressively older and into our lower teens, we in turn were able to start driving the old Fordson, the first most important job that seemed to go on for a week or so none stop was that of bindering the corn, that was where we took it in turns to drive. ( Corn - wheat ,oats and barley. for you lads reading from USA) and sometimes beans and often had a field of dredge corn, which consisted of barley, oats, wheat, peas and beans, this was a difficult crop to binder as if you did it too early the wheat would be still green, if you did it too late the barley or oats would be shedding.
When the dredge corn was threshed the grain was in them days as near to a balanced ration for the cattle as you could get all home grown. During the war and for quite a few years after imported grains , maize and soya were in short supply as were groundnut, palm colonel, and linseed cake. These were the by product of the oil crushing mills in Liverpool where Bibby's produced a balanced cow corn in cubes,or was it their soap factory (remember ASTRA perfumed soap, it made a change from the war time carbolic soap) where they utilised by-product into dairy cake.
It was on a factory visit to the docks (Father had started using Bibby's Dairy cubes) at Liverpool to Bibby's factory that they also took you round the soap factory as well, and they even gave out a few paper wrapped bars of their Astra soap to each of their visitors, I can't tell you how thrilled mother was with "her" perfumed soap, but needless to say we never got a smell of it.
At the docks we saw no end of pair of shire horses pulling wooden wheeled wagons about with up to six tons at a time, of coarse it was all level pulling on cobbled and paved streets in and around the docks from ships to warehouses, but of coarse Bibby's factory was right on the dock side.
Another thing we saw that day was steam lorries or wagons still working from docks to warehouses a bit further inland, in fact when we were going home on the coach we saw then them chuffing along the main roads at amazing speeds fully loaded. I have never seen one in work on the roads since that day out to Liverpool.
I seem to have got side traced from my original story; the old Fordson was getting well worn by the time we got to working it, in particular the steering. On full lock the inside front wheel would turn its angle almost to touch the engine, and it took an enormous effort to get it from there to the other lock. Cutting corn with the binder this happened on every corner, and occasionally did not make it soon enough, and ran some of the corn down in the process.
Father always rode "shot gun" on the binder as he was very particular as to how low the straw was cut, he almost licked it off the ground, and he adjusted the string to where the shoffs were tied according to the length of straw, and originally would have had to steer the three shire horses pulling it as well.
But now we were steering the coarse, and any deviation would be shouted at of very severely and heavily frowned at, in fact we were glad that he did not still have the long whip in its holder that he could "title" the shires with or I've no doubt it would have soon been used on us. Needless to say our arms got stronger by the minuet and rarely ran into, or even edged the crop again.
We got that used to the job it was up to us to convert the binder back onto its road wheels, on to the next field and back into cutting mode again, when you think back we were doing it "Formula One" stile pit stops, a lot faster than the men could do it so they let us get on with it.
Father always had a policy "Flog the young" but then another saying he had contradicted that "Wear the old bgugers out fost"
( Should read Buggers but the FWI computer goes # # # )
Ozzy came with face like thunder, chewing on his pipe,
We dropped and run so fast, and hid away from gripe,
He found a whippy nut stick, and chased us when we showed,
"Within seconds we found ourselves hanging ten foot up in the air not knowing if it was safe to drop".
Ozzy Allcock lived at Woodseaves, and ran his contracting business from there. He was the man who drove the steam engine that pulled the threshing set around the area, going from farm to farm. On the larger farms it could be two or three days, and in the village of Seighford usually it was a day to a farm, sometimes a bit longer then on to the next customer.
Ozzy had two sons of his own, one joined him when he was old enough to operate the machinery, his name was Norman. Originally they travelled out to the job they were at on their bikes, with a bag to carry their breakfast lunch and a flask of tea. When they converted to tractor ( from the steamer) Norman had an old van to carry the fuel and tools they needed. With the steam engine it was up to the farm they were working at to fill him up with coal and water, so they had no fuel to carry.
Ozzy was a wiry determined sort of chap, with a dark complexion from the oil and coal smoke that he worked in. He always wore a peaked cap that was totally water proof from his oily hands and always used his hat if there was something too hot to undo or adjust on the steam engine. He had determined set to his jaw which stuck out almost to the length of his nose, and gripped his pipe in a permanent position in the side of his mouth. His eyes were deep set and wide open and alert, if any of us kids were where we shouldn't be he could tell you NO with one look. His jacket and overalls were in the same waterproof condition as his cap, and a pair of hobnail boots on his feet. He had a serious face, which hid his sense of humour from people who did not know him, and Norman was a younger version of the old man but not so oily and no pipe.
I Remember the Threshing Machine,
During the winter short of straw, call in the threshing machine,
Ricks of corn all stacked and thatched, oats peas and beans,
Mixed corn to feed the cows, and straw to bed them up,
Ozzy Alcock on his steamer, he brings his whole setup.
See the steam and smoke a puffin, o'er bank before he's seen,
Calls at the pool by Seighford Hall, for water he is keen,
Polish up with oily rag, and oil can in his other hand,
Keep busy while the tank fills up, next farm he's in demand.
His teeth have keen grip on his pipe, swinging steamer into gate,
Some of the train he leaves on the road, peg pulled out by his mate,
One at a time Box, Baler and binder, positioned to get belt into line,
Steam engine is last to shuffle in place, start in the morning by nine.
Ozzy and his mate are here by six, they travel about on their bikes,
Light fire in the old steamer, match from his pocket he strikes,
Oil all the dozens of bearings, check the belts are all tight,
Time for breakfast and a brew of tea, and fill up his pipe to light.
At quarter to nine he opens his regulator, steam to the piston apply,
All the spindles and shafts and pullies and belts all begin to fly,
Lot of dust rises from threshing box, and sets to a steady hum,
Men from the neighbouring farm who help, they know its time to come.
It takes a whole day to thresh a bay, just a bit more for a rick,
Onto the next farm up the village, he makes his way quite quick,
This is repeated around the farms, about three times each year,
Dirty and dusty job it was, not looking forward for him to reappear.
Countyman
When travelling about they always took a baler and a trusser, so if anyone wanted to save some thatching straw he would use the trusser, and the baler for stock bedding straw. It was one of the occasions when the trusser was standing to one side with its drawbar on the ground. It was a two wheel machine which was heavy to lift the drawbar from the ground, then as it got higher it over centred and fly in the air. There was four of us kids in the gang waiting for the rats to start running all with sticks, getting board we though we would try to lift the trusser drawbar. It was very heavy at first, then to our surprise it started going up and all four of us shot up with it, trying to hold it. Within seconds we found ourselves hanging ten foot up in the air not knowing if it was safe to drop. Ozzy never missed a trick and we could see him striding our way with a long nut stick in his hand making whippy noise with it. There was no option left but to drop and run as fast as we could. Later we made an attempt to return only to be jumped at with the same whippy stick, from round a corner. I don't think he was too savage, but he made sure we never attempted that again. It took five men to recover and lift the trusser back upright.
I Remember the Threshing Machine Mishap
This was in the winter of 1948 when I was 10 years old. We were baling the straw and it was the binder to (save thatching straw) that was stood by.
We were playing around the yard; the threshing machine was here,
It took nine men to operate, and came three times a year,
Ozzy was the contractor, he was owner of all the machines,
One was stood aside this day; it bound the straw in sheaves.
Four of us thought were strong, see if the drawbar we could shift,
With a struggle got it off the ground, then lighter was the lift,
This machine was on two wheels, and top heavy was in shape,
At shoulder height it pulled us up, ten foot we dangled no escape.
Ozzy came with face like thunder, chewing on his pipe,
We dropped and run so fast, and hid away from gripe,
He found a whippy nut stick, and chased us when we showed,
All morning he kept it up with vigor, till too tired was he to follow.
Took five men to lift it back, as we watch from a distance,
For years he told us with a smile, you've got to find the balance,
He will always be remembered, for his pipe, and oily cap,
A wirery man with hump from age, cheerful spoken apart from mishap.
Countyman
During one bad winter the packed ice on the road made it near impossible for Ozzy to get his heavy train of equipment out of Seighford over Bridgeford bank. Not even one unit at a time as the tractor was too slow to take a run at it. So arrangements were made for a local milk lorry, loaded with milk. and chains on his wheels, to pull the threshing box over the bank to his next call. Being inquisitive us kids thought we would watch this exercise closely, so close we trotted behind holding onto the rail where the bags are hung when in work. In the first hundred yards it was OK just a steady trot, then past the front of Seighford Hall the driver put his foot down to get a good run at the bank. As the speed increased so our stride bounced longer our feet touching the road every ten foot or so, it was still great fun to this point, then it got serious and we dare not let go. The bag hooks were swinging along the bar that we hung onto, and a big danger of hooking into our sleeves or even our hands. On the last bit of straight by Cooksland Hall, he must have got to his maximum speed and we could no longer hold on, so we worked our way to one side and took a dive into the snow drifts at the side of the road. No one knew of this escapade but our gang, but we never got the chance to try it again, fortunately the snow gave us a soft landing.
To win without risk is to triumph without glory.
Pierre Corneille (1606-1684)