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A Country Year - A Farming Life.

February 6th to February 23rd

From A Farmer's Year by Henry Rider Haggard, his commonplace book for 1898.

   February 6. - Yesterday we had heavy snowstorms with intervals of of sunshine, which has left the ground quite deep in thawing snow. The ox of which I have already spoken has turned sick again, so, as he is a big brute, with a good deal of meat on his bones, Hood came to the conclusion, and I agreed with him, that rather than run any further risk we had better sell him for whatever he would fetch. Accordingly the butcher from Bungay was sent for, and after some bargaining offered 12/. for him as he stood, that was 1/. less than he cost some months ago. So the ox went away.

   In the afternoon having studied theory of ploughing I proceeded to put it into practice on All Hallows six-acres, which was being thwarted for root. Ploughing, I can assure the reader, is one of those things that look a great deal easier than they are. The observer, standing at a gate to watch a man with a pair of horses strolling up and down a field for hours on end, if unexperienced, is apt to conclude that beyond physical endurance involved the difficulties are small. Let him take a pair of horses, however, and follow this pastoral pursuit for, say, forty minutes, and he will come away with a greatly increased respect for Mr. Hodge.

   To begin with, the setting out of the field to plough in accordance with the kind of work selected as suitable to the purpose for which it is being cultivated, is no means an easy matter. Nor is it easy to keep a perfectly straight line. or, by pressing too much or to little on the plough handles, not to cause undesirable variations of depth in the furrow. But all this is simplicity itself compared to what happens when you reach the end of the field and are called upon to turn round. Even if you have mastered the mystic word, or rather noise - it sounds like wo-is-sh Dlun (Dlun represents the name of the mare, which afterwards you ascertain to be 'Darling') - the Open Sesame, at the sound of which, and at nothing else, the horses will turn at all - the probability is that you bring them about too sharply, throwing the plough on to its side and yourself into the ditch. Or perhaps you wheel them round too widely, with the result that you find yourself a yard or two beyond the spot where you purposed to begin a new furrow, vaguely wondering how you are going to drag a heavy plough and two very solid horses back into position.

   The intelligence evinced by farm horses at ploughing, and indeed all other work - if only you are master of the language which they understand - always strikes me astonishing. The carriage and riding horse is generally very much of a fool and misbehaves himself, or gets frightened, or runs away upon most convenient occasions. How different it is with his humble farmyard cousin, who, through heat or cold, sun or snow, plods on hour after hour at his appointed task, never stepping aside or drawing a false line, always obedient to the voice of his driver, and, provided he is fairly fed and rested, always ready to work the long year through.

   To-day, Sunday, there were showers of snow and sleet in the morning, though after church the sun came out. In the afternoon it was dull again, with a strong west wind; but the moon-rise to-night was one of the most lovely that I have seen for a long time. In front of where I stood, on the top of Hollow Hill, lay a stretch of bare plough, bordered by a little belt of plantation. Above these trees the moon, full, bright, and round, appeared in a perfectly clear sky, turning the tree-tops and the cold purple plough silver with her light.

   

A Country Year - A Farming Life.

February 6th to February 23rd

   February 10th. - For the last three days all the available carts have been at work carting littler out of the yards. The weather has been bright and colder, with slight frosts at night, which have done much good. The manure, I may explain, is hauled on to a heap in the field for which it is intended, where it heats. After about fourteen days it can be turned so that the bottom of the heap becomes the top, and do this properly is part of the mystery of farming. Then it heats again, after which, shortened and sweetened, it is fit to go upon the earth. This heating kills all seeds of docks or other rubbish that may have been brought in with the hay or straw, so that the mixture becomes more readily incorporated with the soil. Summer muck, however, being much shorter owing to it containing less straw, is often carted straight on the land without being 'haled' or heaped. The manure this year should be of good quality, as so little rain has fallen to wash the yards and spoil it.

   To-day is Bungay market, and Hood sold about fifty-six coomb of wheat grown on all Hallows land at 18s. 3d. the coomb of 18 stone, or 36s. 6d. the quarter. This is sixpence less than he was offered last week; but the markets for corn are so dreadfully uncertain, and so much at the mercy of American 'corners' and speculators in 'futures,' that it seems best to take it, as, for aught we know, by the next sale day wheat may be down two or three shillings a quarter. Of course, on the other hand, it may be up, especially as it is said that there is a shortage in the world's supply. But this it is not safe to count on.

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   February 11. - To-day is dull and mild, with a very high glass.

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   February 19. - There has been little to record during the past week. The weather has been dull with a good deal of wind, which rose to a strong westerly gale on the 16th, and on the whole mild. We have been carting a quantity of manure from the various yards, also delivering the wheat which was sold upon the 12th after it had been cleaned, or dressed as we call it, in the winnowing machine. On the 17th we ploughed Ape field. This field is to be sown with barley, but as the soil has gone down tight, it was thought advisable to give it a second ploughing. 

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   February 21. - Winter has come at last, for the thermometer shows that there were ten degrees of frost during the night. One of my best cows, Miss Pegotty by name, calved last night, or tried to calve, with the result that when Hood went into the cowhouse this morning he found the calf dead and the cow not far off it. I think the calf was the largest which I ever saw, and that the trouble was undoubtedly occasioned by nobody being with the cow. This sounds like carelessness, but in fact it is not always so. All mammals seem to prefer to produce their young at night, although in the case of cattle this rule has many exceptions. Therefore, when a cow is overdue, and shows the usual signs of calving, the cowkeeper has sometimes to sit up night after night to watch her, until at last he is worn out. In the present case, for instance, I believe that Miss Pegotty has been expected to calve for the last fortnight, and that Hood and his brother have watched her during all that time. Last night, however, the signs of immediate calving vanished, and Hood, on whom the watching had devolved for several nights, thought it quite safe in taking a rest, with the results stated above. It will be a terrible business if we lose Miss Pegotty as well as her calf, for she is one of our most prolific and reliable cows.

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A Country Year - A Farming Life.

February 6th to February 23rd

   She has been dosed with a pint of whisky in gruel, but is quite unable to get on her hind legs. The farrier has come to visit her, and does not recommended she be slung, as he thinks that the pressure of the slings might upset her inside, which indeed occurred to me probable. I may explain that slinging was suggested because it is feared that if she lies much longer she will get set fast with stiffness, and never find her feet again.

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   February 22. - Last night there was twelve degrees of frost, but the ground remains soft enough to allow of one plough working on some light land, the rest of the horses being employed in carting manure. The cow, Miss Pegotty, is still unable to find the use of her hind legs. Her eyes, however, seem bright and healthy, also she can eat. Mustard is being rubbed upon her lions with the object of stimulating the muscles.

   It is a curious day for the end of February: very clear, cold, and still, the sky heavy as though with snow, except the sun breaks out, as it does from time to time. Standing at the gate of one of the new pastures behind the house, I was struck by the quiet and peacefulness of the scene. On the back lawn, at some distance from me, the lambs were at play, their bleats sounding loud in the stillness, while the green of the pasture was dotted here and there with feeding ewes, that looked extraordinarily white against the grey skyline. Near to me, and in the same field, grazed the two colts, till one of them, discovering my presence, ceased to nibble at the short brown grass and advanced gingerly, as though to inquire my business. Presently, having satisfied his curiosity, he wandered off again to join his companion.

   Notwithstanding that the air was almost at freezing-point, the thrushes and blackbirds were singing in the little plantations round the house, though not with a full a voice as they sang a fortnight since; while from the tall hedgerow to my left came from time to time the insolent crow of a cock-pheasant, rejoicing perhaps that he had, and that his companions had not, escaped the guns. Presently a rustle caught my ear, and in the ground-ivy on the bank a yard or so away I perceived two little field-mice sporting together, the rustle being by the stir of the dead leaves and sere grasses as they moved among them. While I watched, one of these mice climbed up the stem of a maple bush in the fence, and began to nibble at the bark. Perhaps it was collecting materials for its nest, though of this I am not sure, as I do not know when these little creatures begin to mate. The rabbits, at any rate, are already breeding freely, for I have seen some half-grown young ones in the wood on the Bath Hills; indeed, I believe that in mild seasons they continue to multiply all through the winter. As I turned to go home, frightening away the mice by my movement, the Bungay church clock struck, and although it is a mile and a quarter distant, in that clear still air it sounded close at hand.

   The labourers' rate of wages on this farm is now 13s. a week and harvest money. The milkman, however, who receives no harvest money, gets a cottage free instead. The men employed about the plantations and on odd jobs is paid 12s., and an old fellow, who has been working as a stop-gap for the last six months, 11s. only. I wish that there were any reasonable prospect of wages increasing, but this seems impossible until farming can be made to pay again. Under the present state of affairs, even at to-day's prices the labour bill frequently devour the profits.

   To-day Hood sold a pair of the little red-poll bullocks, two-year-old things, to the butcher.

 

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