Will’s World: All hail the marvellous, mystical ag engineer
© Richard Stanton Fuelled by energy drinks, steak bakes and testosterone, the fabled agricultural engineer appears on the horizon.
His van, an extension of his personality, is as pristinely white as a young swan’s wing. Lovingly washed and polished that morning, it glimmers like an oasis in the desert.
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A number plate with a nickname bestowed when he was a mere apprentice – and therefore his for life – is propped on the dashboard.
Flashing amber beacons illuminate the roof, and the chrome-covered wing mirrors gleam with the splendour of a thousand suns.
He doesn’t speed across the field so much as glide.
As you watch him drop anchor beside your stricken machine, your stress levels tumble, your heart rate returns to normal, and you know in the very depths of your soul that all will be well again – the saviour has arrived.
The door opens slowly and out he steps, with all the machismo of John Wayne dismounting his cavalry horse.
You catch the heady combination of Lynx Africa and watermelon vape as he nods a greeting, and you’re grateful that he dons branded overalls over his way-too-low-slung jeans.
Peak performance
His oil- and grease-blackened baseball cap, the peak curved with intimate precision and pulled low over the eyes, is permanently fixed upon his noble brow.
His boots are well-worn, the steel of the toecaps exposed, and he walks with the confident swagger of a man who holds the power of machinery life-or-death and farmer enjoyment-or-not of the day in his scarred and calloused hands.
“How’s it looking, mon?” he drawls.
You stutteringly try to explain the problem – something along the lines of “it was fine, then it wasn’t” – and tell him what you’ve done so far (removed a few guards, scratched your head, and called for help).
Mind over matter
His eyes narrow, his lips purse, and for a few minutes he contemplates the issue like a philosopher of old – the Aristotle of the engine, the Socrates of the shaft, the Plato of the bearing – his sharp mind whirring with possibilities.
After determining a course of action, a sense of urgency descends upon this greatest of men.
He strides purposefully back to the van and pulls open the side door, like Aladdin revealing the glittering contents of his cave.
Immaculate Snap-On tool chests lovingly adorned with stickers, jacks of all kinds, a rack of hammers, shadow boards with everything exactly where it should be (even the 13mm spanner!), welders, angle grinders, drills, oil cans, grease guns, nuts, bolts, washers – and all your hopes and dreams of getting going again, right there.
Then he’s back, eyes fixed on the problem like a lurcher on a hare, and you stand aside to watch this artist at work.
Out come the pliers, which he wields with surgical precision. A socket set emerges, seemingly from thin air, and, after a blur of motion, suddenly, joyously, you begin to believe.
“Can you sort it?” you hesitantly ask. “Should have you going again in half an hour,” he grunts.
And then, he’s finished. With a burst of Radio One out the driver’s window and a flashed thumbs-up, he’s gone, just as quickly as he appeared.
On to help the next stranded farmer and make the world a better place for everyone in it. “Who was that guy?” you wonder.
By all means thank a farmer for your next meal, but don’t forget the agricultural engineers’ contribution too – they’re the real everyday superheroes of the story.