September 2009 - Posts
The brakes were none existent, and rims they had a dent,
And wobbled as I rode it, and the wheels they were bent.
When ever cattle were move up the road to another field, or when they were first turned out in spring, the younger stock always broke into a fast sprint, which the men could not keep up with them. So it was always done when us kids were at home, they got us to jump onto our bikes and over take the running livestock on the road to make sure they did not go where they were not supposed to.
It was about half a mile to the further summer pastures, with four road turn to either block off or turn them in off the road, and about four more gates to stand in or shut the gates.
The dairy cows were used to this walk to the distant day pastures but at night they stayed on a night pasture close by the cowsheds. If we were off school we were sent to take the cows up the road in the mornings and bring the cows down again in the afternoon , this we did on our bikes.
In the early autumn the laying poultry were taken out onto the wheat stubbles in field ark pens, about fifty to a pen, these were on little cast iron wheels and shoved up the field every few days until they had gleaned over the whole field of stubble. The grain got shaken out in the loading of ripe shoffs of corn that had stood a fortnight in the fields to ripen (two church bells). Wheat was bindered at least two weeks earlier than we do now with a combine, other wise grain would be lost in the cutting and stooking.
Back to the hens, this was another job that we did on our bikes, the hens had to be let out in a mornings before we went to school and then shut in again at dusk. In the summer when we had double summer time (early to mid 1940's) it could be as late as 11 pm before it went dark, and no amount of driving would make them go up the chute into their ark.
The eggs were collected into galvanize buckets, old dented buckets, ones that would not hold water. We put a bit of hay in the bottom and hung one on each side of the handle bars, they held around seven dozen in each bucket, On this one day, I had got a good speed up coming down Bridgeford Bank, the same that we did every day, but I lost control and came off my bike eggs and all, I grazed my knee and elbow what I thought was quite badly, cleaned up most of the broken eggs off the road and those still in the buckets I slung them over the hedge.
On reaching home, no consideration was made as to how my elbow and knees were, but got thoroughly chastised and scolded for breaking two buckets full of eggs. We had cycled with buckets full of eggs many times and as long as ya missed the pot holes the road was quite smooth and very rarely broke any.
I had a Good Old Bike
Remember years ago, when I had a good old bike,
Its mud guards loose and rattled, a new one I would like,
The brakes were none existent, and rims they had a dent,
And wobbled as I rode it, and the wheels they were bent.
The seat was ripped and torn, springs were showing through,
A Saddle bag was hanging, off two little straps askew,
It had a carrier on the back, with long and snappy spring,
A clip to hold my jacket down, save tying it on with string.
Countryman
The Puncture outfit
I had a puncture outfit, in a tin four inches long,
It had a pack of patches; they didn't look very strong,
A tube of tyre solution, there to glue the patches down,
Sand paper to roughen, and talc in glue it turned brown.
I often had a puncture, when I went over spike or thorn,
Turned it upside down to find, the tyre is well worn,
Off to fetch two table spoons, out of the kitchen draw,
Just to use as tyre leavers, see that mother never saw.
The tyre off the spoons they bent, muck and dirt abound,
Pulling out the inner tube, the hole it must be found,
Clean it up and roughen, peel the patch and stick right on,
Blow it up, only to find, we've only got another one.
Tyre mended blown up hard, now to have some fun,
Standing on the peddles hard, make the old hens run,
Up a hedge bank down a track, riding through the wood,
Good job it's just an old one, sliding through the mud.
Countryman
I'm lazy. But it's the lazy people who invented the wheel and the bicycle because they didn't like walking or carrying things
Lech Walesa (1943- )
Find it hard to go up stairs, the misses she's the same,
Fourteen steps long and steep, were both getting lame,
Many of you older reader of this blog will know what its like when your knees start to bow out and they get very painful (it's when bone rubs on bone and they creak),my old dad always said, when he saw anyone like that "his pig stopping days are over", well nowadays its not. My knees went out to almost eight inches apart, such was the ware on the joints and cartilage almost none existent, and at the age of ### I had both knees done. It has revitalized my life although to help guard against wearing the new joints out too quickly we have installed a stair lift.
I know of a few folk who are afraid of going "under the knife", but short term pain (of the op) is well worth the long term gain of pain free joints, they never will be as they were when you were in your twenties, but you can get about relatively comfortably.
Knees
Knees are what you sit on when you small and cannot stand,
Knees are what you rely on when walk and need a hand,
Knees are what you bend, when you want to duck ya head,
Knees are what you rest when you finally hit your bed.
They carry all ya weight when ya walking out n' about,
They carry all the load when ya lift and think ya stout,
They start to give ya notice when they're getting worn out,
They're creaking when ya up and down nuff ta mek ya shout.
Joints they need some basting with goose fat to lubricate
Joints they give you pain day and night and won't abate
Joints they need replacing with some metal good and strong,
Joints that are pain free and ya life it will prolong.
I can tell you they're well worth it, under the knife must go,
I can tell you who to see, and explain and tell you all I know,
I can feel the benefit of these new and shiny joints,
I can stand and bend and walk pain free, out away on jaunts.
Countryman
A Lift it is a Must
Find it hard to go up stairs, the misses she's the same,
Fourteen steps long and steep, were both getting lame,
We puff and pant as we go up, our joints are getting stiff,
Not much better coming down, like walking down a cliff.
We looked and looked for way to help, a lift it is a must,
One that would take us up the stairs, one that we can trust,
Save our legs and save our breath, were getting older now,
Sent off to the knacker's yard, if we were a lame old cow.
Countryman
It is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees
Emiliano Zapata (1877 - 1919)
It's Been a Good Two Years.
Been writing now a good two years, enough to fill a book,
All about our farming life, that all my life has took,
As kids what we got up to, and how we coped with life,
Living in a little village, with up's and down's of strife.
See it here all in print, on the computer screen,
Print it off and read it all, look back on where I've been,
Some of it is in a blog, and fleshed it out a bit,
With the stories of my lifetime, in verse I write and sit.
Bought me self a printer, and paper by the reams,
Get the writing all in order, a name for all my dreams,
Push the button and print it off, two hundred pages loose,
Learn to bind them all together, n' front cover must produce.
A picture of our cows and calves, grazing out at grass,
My Home, My Farm, My Village, blazoned right across,
Now it looks more like a book, I published on my own,
A book of what I've written, of what I reap and sown.
This I've done for charity, raise money for good cause,
Help for all those people, who help others without pause,
Research for head injuries', and equipment that they need,
Help them find the best tools; please help me with this deed.
Countryman
I first started selling a booklet of these poems in a booklet form at our local village fete, and as I wrote more brought another with between thirty and forty in each booklet. There are now currently six volumes and a seventh being assembled.
However I decided to produce a bound copy that included all the contents of the first five Booklets and intend eventually bring out a second bound book when time permits.
All proceeds are donated to the charity "Headway",
You can see in the blog"Second Report on the Ploughing Match" that the proceeds of that event went to the same charity. See under the Tag "Plough"
Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.
Joseph Addison (1672 - 1719)
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 (Wheat) 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 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
The railway is a four track line that runs from London to Scotland, and every day the "Flying Scotsman" would run through at full steam at 3.45 pm heading north, and back again sometime during the night. It was said that the lines were cleared of other traffic, so as not to impede its progress, quite a number of other express trains followed including some named ones.
Local trains were diverted onto the slow lines until they had all passed. For some reason the railways, always named the tracks Up Fast , Down Fast, and Up Slow and Down Slow, it was always Up to London, and Down to Scotland. They must have an upside down map.
It was reported by an engine driver that we had had a beast on the line, we went down and a couple of lengths men were sent as well, to clear the carcase off the tracks. On arrival all we found was a half of a yearling's leg and foot, a bit of blood and guts and nothing else could be found, we just presumed it must have been hanging on the buffers of an express train when it arrived at Euston Station in London.
To us, the moment 8:17 AM means something- something very important, if it happens to be starting time of our daily train. To our ancestors, such an odd and eccentric instant was without significance - did not even exist. In inventing the locomotive, Watt and Stevenson were part inventors of time.
Aldous Huxley (1894 - 1963)
Mullee's the bloke, Mullee's the name, Paul's the one to call,
Goes everywhere for everyone, as out of bed he crawls,
Brian ( Kansas) may like this one although I seem to have more negatives than positive, but you do report all the extremes of weather, but then I was running out of words ending to rhyme with ‘folks' and ‘jokes' etc. Check it out, read his blogs.
Oh to live in Kansas, where there are not so many folks,
Plenty of room "to swing a cat", and exchanging jokes,
Its only few days of the year, when the county smokes,
Fields burnt remove the trash, new pasture it promotes,
When it gets hot and dry and dusty, and drink too many cokes,
Humidity so very low, and wind it cuts the lips of most blokes,
Shrivels up grain and cobs, can halve yield in fields it strokes,
Hazards of the brush fires, on call day and night with kinfolks.
Often have extremes of weather, tornado it provokes,
Storms that are so vicious, floods in fields it soaks,
Cold in winter and deep snow, for days the road it chokes,
Frost and ice and wind chill, test the hardiest of blokes,
Feeding cattle, roll out bales, into shelter coax,
Just another job to do, in hat and gloves and cloaks,
Fuel for the winter stored, onto the fire pokes,
Keeping warm stormy nights, roof timber creaks and croaks.
Countryman
Graham ( viewfromtheothersideofthefence)
This was written before we knew you had bought your land, see his blog to keep up to date.
Built up a picture, though its all in my mind,
A house in the countryside, a fence it hides behind,
Away at work all the week, home again to relax,
Write up his blog post, dreaming of his phone and his fax.
Likes to keep it secret, the job he does all week,
We know he takes a pencil and his notebook so to speak,
Reports on what he see's and tells the world all his news,
Or that he thinks we aught to know, just to give us clues.
His garden has a poultry pen, some eggs for the house,
They scratch around the boarders, disturb the odd mouse,
Off back to college, to give farming a lot of thought,
To get his own farm, this year we think he's bought.
Just take a view from, the other side of the fence,
Look and read between the lines, think he's got some sense,
Going into farming, now we've got some doubts,
But passion by the bucketful, market trend he flouts.
Countryman
Oh To Be Plumber Boy ( Paul)
In reality he is a farmer, who does all my contract mowing and baling, but has trained as a domestic heating engineer. So here is a good plug for him, he does my boiler servicing as well
Paul he has a plumber's job, as a plumber not mending pipes,
But boilers are what he's trained to do, all of many types,
Van full of all the tools and all the spares he needs,
Inside job keeping warm, to breakdowns off he speeds.
Of advertising he has no need, recommendation grows,
Word has spread far and wide, of word alone he glows,
Repair and maintenance, cleans and check and test,
Each job he does, each call he has, he always does his best.
Pull em apart, clean the flues, fitting a brand new jet,
Check the vents, and check the draught, fuel he always sets,
Then to tests emissions, fuel must completely burn,
Seal the front and clean the case, and test the knobs in turn.
Mullee's the bloke, Mullee's the name, Paul's the one to call,
Goes everywhere for everyone, as out of bed he crawls,
Long list of annual calls to make, boilers large and small,
Come quick or else we'll freeze to death, told to ask for Paul.
Give him a ring, give him a bell, give him a chance, he will know,
On O seven nine seven three- four nine two, three two O,
He's always cheerful when you call, always help you out,
Emergency breakdowns, do all he can, tools he's never without.
Countryman
Lets just test how far afield he will go, give im a call.
Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any one thing.
Abraham Lincoln (1809 - 1865)