Will’s World: Pressure, pitches and the perils of being a farmer

The great Australian all-rounder Keith Miller, who’d flown Mosquito fighter-bombers in multiple missions over mainland Europe during the war, was asked by Michael Parkinson many years later about the pressure of playing Test match cricket.

His dismissive response was to go down in history: “Pressure is a Messerschmitt up your arse, playing cricket is not.”

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I often think about this quote when I’m under a bit of pressure, as I can’t think of many better ways to put everyday worries into context.

Nevertheless, I am currently feeling the strain. It started when the groundsman at our local rugby club uttered the immortal words to me: “You’re a farmer, aren’t you?”.

In my experience, you never quite know where a conversation’s heading after that particular opener, so my response was a cautious: “Yes, why?”

Grass tacks

It turned out that he was after my “expert advice” on reseeding the pitches.

After a season that’s seen even more variations of terrible weather than we usually get in North Wales, they’ve currently got more bare patches than a motheaten rug and are definitely in need of some TLC over the next few months.

He has an almost impossible job, though, because it’s the kind of sandy loam soil that goes from being a quagmire to concrete-hard in less than a fortnight, as my numerous rugby-playing daughters will attest.

We’ve often expected a concerned phone call from the school after they show up on Monday mornings with so many large bruises and grazes on their legs.

Also, everyone – and I mean everyone – has a strong opinion on how the pitches look. Last spring the groundsman broadcasted some seed after harrowing it, then it didn’t rain for about two months and the pigeons ate so much of it they could barely take off.

As a result, the pitches didn’t look much better at the start of the new season than they did at the end of the last.

The poor bloke got so much stick from players, coaches and spectators, most of whom have never taken care of anything more challenging than a lawn in their lives. But as a farmer, I only felt great sympathy.

Seeds of change

Anyway, I’ve been landed with the responsibility of sorting it out ready for next season, and because I’m feeling the pressure of getting it right, I’ve called in the big guns to help.

My best mate happens to be the national grass seeds manager at one of the big agronomy companies, so I got straight on to him to get me the right seed for the job.

Not because I particularly wanted to give him the business, you understand, but so I can firmly pass the blame to him if it doesn’t grow.

I also got one of the lads at the local racecourse to come and put it in with one of their tractors that has groundcare tyres and a specialist cross-slot drill they use for this sort of thing.

So with luck and a fair wind (and some rain and sunshine), hopefully it’ll be a success.

I am currently on the crest of a wave with grass-based wins, as we cut some fields for silage on 18 March, making me feel like one of those trendy multi-cut heroes.

It was an experiment last autumn when we put some fast grass in after maize, and it’s worked a treat. We’ve now got stock grazing on them before they’re sprayed off soon ready for maize again.

What’s next, a pair of shorts and a plate meter? We’ll see.