Old Lad

I have always had an interest in farming. Surprisingly for one who grew up in a small industrial town in Lancashire – which had 5 working coal mines and 2 cotton mills, we were always close to farms. Urban sprawl from Manchester had not arrived and we were surrounded by farmland – mainly arable and cattle. I was friends with the local farmer’s children and so a lot of my outdoors play in the 1950s was on the farm. The dead hand of Health and Safety had not arrived and so as a nine year old I helped with tasks – feeding the cows, collecting free range eggs from the most unlikely laying places and a great favourite – feeding turnips into a shredding machine to create cattle food! The advice I got was “keep your fingers out of the way”! Harvest time was one of the best times. No combine harvesters then so wheat was cut and formed into sheaves which then were stacked in a wigwam shape for a day before being taken back to the farm to the mighty threshing machine. So at the age of 9 I could handle sheaves of corn.

The barns which were stacked with bales of corn became an adventure playground. The barn was also a life lesson place where the farmer’s older daughter mesmerised us with tales of animal procreation and the gory details of what happened at the butcher’s! She did briefly strike terror in me when she explained how girls had periods to us little boys. I spent the next few weeks examining my underpants for signs of blood! Each year there would be a harvest festival in the local church when the building would be decorated with produce, sheaves of corn and flowers. As a nod to the local industry there was always a huge piece of coal and a Davy safety lamp plus a bale of cotton.

When I moved to practice in Cumberland farming was an integral part of the local community, and so we became locked into the seasons – ploughing, planting, lambing, harvesting and it added a rhythm to life. At this time of year – late July and August- it is the season of local agricultural shows, and as our own children grew up we used to regularly visit one or two shows a year. It gave them an insight into farming and they became adept at identifying breeds of sheep. My son used to enjoy the displays of the latest tractors and was often allowed to sit in the cabs. ( Sadly health and safety has killed this off). Country shows are of course THE place for spotting Old Lads! They usually gather by the sheep pens, each with a stick with either an elaborately carved handle or a ram’s horn and pass judgement on the sheep. ( For the uninitiated ewes are “yows “ and rams are “tups”) The standard Old Lads greeting is “ How’s thi fettle “ and the standard reply will be either “ Grand” or “ Nobbut middlin “. Shows are not without their hazards. I was once at Ennerdale show when a farmer leading a prize bull round the ring got knocked over by the beast, fell and dislocated his shoulder. The tannoy made the dreaded announcement if there was a doctor on the field so I felt I should step forward. By then a group of the Old Lads had come on the field to give me helpful advice about how to “put it back”. This is usually not a good idea in an elderly person so I demurred and we called an ambulance.

A wonderful feature of these shows is of course the Industrial tent where competition takes place for different handcrafts, baking, produce and flower arrangements. Each class is fiercely contested. I did once cause consternation by entering a class for 3 stems of roses and won a second prize. When I went to see the result I could overhear conversations from the locals about who this interloper was. There were always the slightly eccentric classes. This year in the Ennerdale Show there is a class for “ an arrangement of flowers in a wellyboot “ and “ cress grown in a decorated eggshell “! Perhaps it’s time for me to go again. This time however I can mingle with old lads. I’ve even got the stick with a horn handle – a gift after I gave a talk to a local farmers club – so with that and my cap I should look the part!