RAIN ON MY WINDOW.
THE BOTHY MEN.
They have left a huge legacy of Bothy Ballads and song, particularly in the North East as I prefer to call Aberdeenshire and it’s neighbouring counties. This I cannot emulate, nor is there any point. But still I can recall what I can of those Bothy days at Whitehall in Stronsay, days when our father had single men in the Bothy, sometimes more, sometimes less. They were of course unmarried men and boys who made up part of the farm staff, married men each having a cottage on the farm. An occasional married man from another Island was sometimes housed there, harvest hands particularly. The Bothy was lower down the farm road from the farmhouse, had previously been a farm cottage in it’s own right and by our time had been turned into the Bothy. Flagstone floors in the ground floor rooms, sparsely if adequately furnished with basic needs such as a simple wooden table in the middle of the kitchen with a bit of wax-cloth on top, sturdy wooden chairs around it. A couple of battered old horse-hair stuffed armchairs sat either side of the fire, hand me downs from the farmhouse.
An open fire with iron firebars and a swee, which was a black iron swiveling bar which held the well smoked black kettle on a chain above the coals when needed, higher or lower as need be. Or swung off to the side to keep it warm on the back of the fire. A pot or two to boil some potatoes or make some soup.
There were the usual fire irons of poker and tongs and shovel, an old thick woollen sock hung on a nail at the right hand side of the wooden mantle-piece to use to lift the hot kettle or a pot off the fire. Saved burnt fingers. The fire was usually kept going overnight by slocking it with ashes and still alive come morning. A quick poke, some fresh coal, fill the kettle and leave it on the fire to boil while the men went to the stable to breakfast their horses, then back to the Bothy for their morning cup of strong sweet tea out of a well-smoked big brown porcelain tea pot. Toast or whatever else was available, a bit of oatcake or some bere bannock..
They had other basic utensils such as a frying pan and a flat iron gridle, some bothy boys were actually quite good cooks and they were always hungry as manual workers in the great outdoors usually are, if there are any left nowadays. So sometimes one or other would try his hand at some delicacy of his own invention. A good going fire could toast a slice of bread on a long fork, though I have seen a slice just laid on top of the glowing coals, smoked toast and not really as bad as it sounds. Just scrape off the burnt bits. The smell of toast was always hanging in the air, it was an easy thing to make and cut from a half loaf of baker’s bread bought from Swanney’s travelling van from the village. Butter was plentiful, usually from the farm dairy. A jar of jam always. Jam jars full of dripping, sometimes got from the farm house kitchen, usually from a roast shoulder of fat old ewe mutton, sometimes used for frying, sometimes just spread straight on a slice of bread. Mutton was really fat in those days, today one cannot get tasty mutton from the butcher at all, having to make do with tasteless fat-free immature lamb. Horrible.
I remember rows of jam jars being filled with dripping in the farm kitchen, sometimes it was just rendered down fat. Kept for ages. Even had some posted down to Inverness during the War to Drummond Park our school hostel.
A brander iron, and for the uninitiated that is an iron grid on a long iron handle on which a piece of anything could be laid and held over the fire to toast or roast. Quite often some fresh caught fish would be cleaned, split, coated in oatmeal and done over the hot coals, eaten at once of course with the fingers and at its absolutely best. Caithes in Orkney, cuddins in Caithness - a favourite, caught on an evening out on the sea in a small boat with a bamboo rod we called a wand and white goose feather flies hiding the three barbed hooks. And the tea pot, constantly in use.
Crocks from the farm house, often the remains of an old tea service or other broken sets of plates or such but good enough for the Bothy. A cupboard held such things as sugar in a jam jar with a lid on it salt, butter, milk, bread, a biscuit tin. Mice were usually their companions, so store food out of their reach..
Cups without saucers, maybe just a few odd saucers and sometimes we recognised a cup or two from a Farm house tea set that had been broken, spoiling the set for our mother but good enough for the bothy boys!!. Nestle’s Condensed Milk in a can with a hole punched in the top. Sweet stuff it was too. Our mother never allowed it in the Farm House so we begged a spoonful if we could. Stolen fruit is tastier I am told, and I cannot argue that one.
Their substantial breakfast was at eleven o’clock, taken in the farmhouse kitchen. And dinner at 6 p.m. Again we children liked to be in the kitchen when the men were there, just to feel a bit grown up and to listen quietly to their banter.
They usually had homes in other parts of the Island though one or two came out-with Stronsay, but they varied over the years. Though the distance to their own home could be quite short, never-the-less with no cars the men lived on the place anyway, though an occasional one came from nearby by bike. When the herring fishing was in full swing there might be an extra man in the bothy, but short-term while the fishing lasted as usually there was plenty of accommodation for herring workers in the Village.
The Bothy Men. Smells of red Lifeboy soap, soap suds, sweat, shitty rubber or tackety boots, working clothes. Fag smoke, Woodbines or Gold Flake or Players or Capstan for the hardy. Or roll your own. Not many pipe smokers in the Bothy, I remember none at all, more for the older married men. Usually grey ashes beneath the fire, fag ends among them. I never remember the ashes ever being totally cleaned out but they must have had a doing sometimes. Black well smoked wooden mantelpiece above the fire, odds and ends on it, a tinny alarm clock with a loud enough tick, strident if it went off. Sometimes it did. A cord slung across the mantelpiece, sometimes holding newly washed socks or a shirt hanging to dry. or a semmit or Long Johns.
There was a table in the window with a white enamelled basin, used for anything and everything such as washing plates, peeling potatoes, or for shaving with a small mirror hung at the side of the window or sometimes set on the window ledge. I think the morning wash and shave was standard, I cannot remember any of the Bothy men ever appearing for work unshaven. And always the smell of Lifeboy soap.
Either side of the stairs in the attic were two bedrooms, two beds in each, a couple of old wardrobes and a small table or two. Nothing on the wooden floors except a sheep skin rug or two, or maybe a bit of linoleum. Tin chanty pots under each bed for No 1s., No 2s were out the door and round the back to a small lean-to shed equipped with a thunderbox and a tin bucket and some torn newspaper spiked on a nail. Quite functional really if a bit drafty, one did not linger. We had a proper bathroom with hot water in the farm house but such luxuries were not for the men!!
The downstairs room opposite the kitchen was often the garage for a motorbike in various stages of repair, or disrepair. It had been the “ben room” of the former farm cottage, flagstone floored. There was a collection of motor bike parts and one whole machine, who owned it I cannot remember. Smells of oil and petrol. And push bikes, usually well kept and treasured, but again some bits and pieces of old time-served favourites. Spanners and oil cans and rags lying around.
A lean-to shed at the end of the bothy held their coal and firewood, and much else besides. A glory hole.
I remember some of them having a “boxy”, or melodeon, or accordion, call it what you will, sometimes a key board, sometimes button. Sometimes a fiddle. The most men I remember living there was four one harvest, but normally not more than two.
Latterly there were no bothy men, we children took over the bothy as our retreat, lighting the fire, making a memorable pot of leek soup with vegies pinched from the kitchen garden and other ingredients pinched from the farm kitchen. Tasted superb, better than anything our mother ever made!! There it was we smoked a fag begged from Wullie Peace the cattleman, or devised our many childrens games. It was ours.
Friday, 3 July 2009
Monday, 22 June 2009
No 43. Horses tied by the neck.
A long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
No 48. HORSES TIED BY THE NECK.
In the stable each horse had its own stall, strong straight-grained pitch pine wooden board partitions we called trevasses between each one. A square outer end post with bevelled edges, pitch pine again, was fixed up right up to the rafter cross beams for strength. On these posts a wooden peg or two held the bridle, the leather and stuffing collar to fit snugly onto the horse’s shoulders, and the shiny steel hems to fit over the collar with the hooks for pulling.. The saddle, the backband - self explanatory - and the britchen to hang over the backside, hung on their respective pegs on the back wall, a man’s reach high. Too high for we boys. On the side of that trevasse post there was sometimes a metal plate on which to knock the back of the grooming brush to get the dust out of it. Saved the wood. These trevasses were higher at the end next the head wall, curving nicely in parellel to match the back and the high arch of the horse’s neck and keep each horse from reaching over to bite the next. Probably kept them more composed not seeing each other, though they could and did often talk to one another.
At the head of each stall was a small crib barrier enclosing the manger and enough space to hold a huge armful of fresh straw, or sometimes a small armful of good sweet hay, not musty or mouldy. Any such was given to the cattle who were less fussy and may have had better lungs. At least they were less valuable. And in the left-hand corner of each a glazed earthenware feed box container to hold grain or the occasional swede turnip or any other titbit. For the horses could be spoiled rotten by their horseman, even pinching some oats from the locked loft to give them, to which father rightly turned a blind eye. At Greenland Mains there was actually a small wooden funnel from the grain loft to the stable below through which oats could be dropped to a bin in a corner of the stable, or a slide on the end of the funnel allowed controlled access to feed for the horsemen, very handy.
The stalls were reasonably wide to allow good access without being crushed, though one horse I knew had the knack of coming sideways to crush the horseman, or give him a good friendly squeeze anyway. And she was a mare too, funny thing. That extra width gave easy access up either side for grooming and cleaning the horse, though again there was one horse who just did not want to move to the left. Had to be persuaded a bit. With often very muddy conditions, particularly when carting turnips out of wet fields in winter or ploughing, horses legs could get quite muddy. Feed them, go home for your own dinner, and then back to the stable in the evening when the mud had dried a bit and was more easily brushed off. Took quite some brushing time too.
The horses were tied by a halter and a rope which slid and moved through a ring in the front of the manger with a heavy round wooden weight on the end which kept the halter rope from getting tangled as the horse raised or lowered its head. There was also a loose box at the end of the stable which usually held a foal or two, or a young horse not yet fully trained.
From that loose box I remember our father putting a rope to the halter which one particular young foal had on at all times and leading it out for a walk-around, taking it down to the horse pond for a drink of water, getting it accustomed to man and all his moods, a great beginning to the eventual training of a horse, a true horseman’s gift. That particular foal when it came to real trainng was so easy to deal with, it practically trained itself. In those days the horse had such a huge part to play in farming, the motive power of the whole industry, so special it is impossible for most people today to even imagine their importance. I always remember as a boy looking at photographs of huge teams of horses, or even mules, in North America pulling the massive ploughs and even binders and combine harvesters which, though capable of cutting and threshing the prairie wheat crops, were not yet self propelled and were pulled by these multi-horse teams. These photos are still wonderful to see, the teams are long gone.
No 48. HORSES TIED BY THE NECK.
In the stable each horse had its own stall, strong straight-grained pitch pine wooden board partitions we called trevasses between each one. A square outer end post with bevelled edges, pitch pine again, was fixed up right up to the rafter cross beams for strength. On these posts a wooden peg or two held the bridle, the leather and stuffing collar to fit snugly onto the horse’s shoulders, and the shiny steel hems to fit over the collar with the hooks for pulling.. The saddle, the backband - self explanatory - and the britchen to hang over the backside, hung on their respective pegs on the back wall, a man’s reach high. Too high for we boys. On the side of that trevasse post there was sometimes a metal plate on which to knock the back of the grooming brush to get the dust out of it. Saved the wood. These trevasses were higher at the end next the head wall, curving nicely in parellel to match the back and the high arch of the horse’s neck and keep each horse from reaching over to bite the next. Probably kept them more composed not seeing each other, though they could and did often talk to one another.
At the head of each stall was a small crib barrier enclosing the manger and enough space to hold a huge armful of fresh straw, or sometimes a small armful of good sweet hay, not musty or mouldy. Any such was given to the cattle who were less fussy and may have had better lungs. At least they were less valuable. And in the left-hand corner of each a glazed earthenware feed box container to hold grain or the occasional swede turnip or any other titbit. For the horses could be spoiled rotten by their horseman, even pinching some oats from the locked loft to give them, to which father rightly turned a blind eye. At Greenland Mains there was actually a small wooden funnel from the grain loft to the stable below through which oats could be dropped to a bin in a corner of the stable, or a slide on the end of the funnel allowed controlled access to feed for the horsemen, very handy.
The stalls were reasonably wide to allow good access without being crushed, though one horse I knew had the knack of coming sideways to crush the horseman, or give him a good friendly squeeze anyway. And she was a mare too, funny thing. That extra width gave easy access up either side for grooming and cleaning the horse, though again there was one horse who just did not want to move to the left. Had to be persuaded a bit. With often very muddy conditions, particularly when carting turnips out of wet fields in winter or ploughing, horses legs could get quite muddy. Feed them, go home for your own dinner, and then back to the stable in the evening when the mud had dried a bit and was more easily brushed off. Took quite some brushing time too.
The horses were tied by a halter and a rope which slid and moved through a ring in the front of the manger with a heavy round wooden weight on the end which kept the halter rope from getting tangled as the horse raised or lowered its head. There was also a loose box at the end of the stable which usually held a foal or two, or a young horse not yet fully trained.
From that loose box I remember our father putting a rope to the halter which one particular young foal had on at all times and leading it out for a walk-around, taking it down to the horse pond for a drink of water, getting it accustomed to man and all his moods, a great beginning to the eventual training of a horse, a true horseman’s gift. That particular foal when it came to real trainng was so easy to deal with, it practically trained itself. In those days the horse had such a huge part to play in farming, the motive power of the whole industry, so special it is impossible for most people today to even imagine their importance. I always remember as a boy looking at photographs of huge teams of horses, or even mules, in North America pulling the massive ploughs and even binders and combine harvesters which, though capable of cutting and threshing the prairie wheat crops, were not yet self propelled and were pulled by these multi-horse teams. These photos are still wonderful to see, the teams are long gone.
Friday, 5 June 2009
The Men o' Whitehaa No 2.
"The Men O' Whitehaa." No 2.
Long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
THE MINIMUM WAGE.
So we come to the last of the long look back to yesterday, back to the "Men of the Bu'," the "Men of Hobbister", the "Men of Whitehaa", the period leading into the War of 1939 – 1945. Comes 1938, war on the horizon, men in the "Terriers", the year my father bought his very first tractor from J. and W. Tait, a Massey Harris Pacemaker, his cousin Charlie Tait, a tractor which started on petrol, and then ran on paraffin when hot enough. At the time he said a war was coming, and so it did. That first tractor was the beginning of the eventual total elimination of the horse from our farming.
The minimum wage appears in the Wages Book for the very first time, when minimum wage actually started I do not know, but assume in 1938. We have heard the phrase many a time since. Wages had remained pretty static from 1919 to 1938. The intervening years had been without great incident. Jamie Moodie bought a half barrel of herring in 1927 for £1/5/-, a 4 bushel sack [224lbs or 100 kgs ] of bere at 10/-.. and a half boll [70lbs ] of bere meal at 10/- in 1928. In March 1928 Wm Marwick bought 2 cwts of bere and drying for £1.4.6d. So too did Sincy Shearer and Sunlocks Miller. Jamie Moodie again had 4cwts. As Whitehaa had no drying kiln this had to be dried at The Stronsay Meal Mill. I can only guess that the men were getting beremeal ground for themselves as malt would first be sprouted in a sweet bed in the loft and then taken to “The Mill” for drying and grinding for brewing.
Wool ran around 1/- a lb., used greatly by the mens’ wives for home spinning and knitting. Coal was around 3 tons a half year but varied with a carry over from one year to another. No peats on Whitehall, Rothiesholm Head and its peat banks was too far away and coal was conveniently handy in the Village. John Hutchison had a doctor's bill for 4/- paid by the farm in 1922, and deducted from his wages. Hard times indeed. Insurance was by the old weekly stamped card, with Sunlocks Miller having two weeks unstamped in 1923 as he was off work. Sunlocks bought two young weaned pigs for £1, we called them grices. Potatoes were sold by the barrel, I guess about one cwt but perhaps nearer a boll of 140 lbs. The 1925 harvest had the entries of extra workers Geo Taylor, £6.12.6d, Sam Reid ditto, Andrew W'mson £6.3/-, Jamie Reid £5.12/-., Mary Tulloch £8.9/-., Jas Miller £6. Maggie Hutchison had £5.14/-. Most of these lived in the Village, would have worked there in the herring season, farm casual work if they could get it when the herring moved South. They spoke of “lifting the harvest”, which was just that with so much bending to gather and tie the sheaves after the reaper, or even the scythe, and lift them into a stook. Or lifting the sheaves after the binder. Good for the waist I would think.
Then In November 1938 the first entry of the Minimum Wage. Sincy Shearer had £27/15/- in the half year, as did Peter and Gillies Stevenson from Burragate in Rousam. Ned Norquoy had £26.5/10d, younger then and not yet on the full rate. He came with us to Greenland Mains in 1944, moved latterly to Greenvale with John Mackenzie. Gillies Stevenson had £2.10/- extra as cattleman in 1939. James Norquoy had ”Harvest” in 1938 less rent £11/16/-, and 4 weeks as cattleman at 34/6d a week. He appears in 1939 as full time cattleman, minimum wage, 34/6d a week. Looks like he worked in 1938 as a harvest hand, then stayed on as a full time employee.
By the writing our mother was doing the books by May 1939, the Minimum Rate was £44.17/- for the half year at 34/6d a week. The earlier £27.15 of Nov. 1938 was with the perquisites entered as extra, while by May 1939 she had changed to applying the minimum on the top line, and then subtracting the perquisites, same result. In May of 1939 Sinclair Shearer, World War 1 veteran, in his last half year before his retirement, had Minimum Wage of £44.17/- for the half year. From that was deducted:- Rent: £3., Meal 10/-, Milk £2/12/9.5d, Coal £1/4/11d., 6 st oats 5/6d., Insurance £1/1/8d., Unemployment 8/8d., by Cash, £20/00/00d., leaving a balance due of £29/3/6.5d. To that had been added an extra £2.12/-, in all a top line of £47.9/-, and a balance after deductions of £18/5/5d. paid.
Jamie Norquoy had 2 cwt potatoes at 5/- the cwt., milk at £5/5/7d, indicating that milk was to be paid for at the quantity required. He had Swanney's account deducted at £5.9..111/2d, credit charged to him but paid and deducted by my father from his wages. Peter Stevenson had coal supplied at 591/2d cwts, no apparent charge so that was a perquisite supplied free. In May 1940 he had a deduction of £19./9/4d. for full cost, appears to have been a standard rate for a presumed specified supply of extras such as a certain predetermined amount of milk, coal and potatoes.
War came in September, 1939, as our father predicted, and so too the dreaded Income Tax, though only charged against unmarried John Peace jnr, his married cattleman father John paying nothing. John's brother Willie, also unmarried, had Income Tax. £5 from each of them. May 1941 saw the Minimum going up to 52/- a week, a fleece of wool of 6lbs bought by John Peace snr was 8/-, 1/4d a lb. Whether that was the fleece that we saw Mrs Peace spinning into wool, to then knit stockings or jerseys for her men I do not know, but we watched her skill many a time at the spinning wheel, though her knitting fingers were too fast for our eyes to follow. She bought some white wool, some black, the resulting blended double-twist thread giving a traditional grey-speckled gansy. Quite attractive too. Or thick socks but they needed a fair bit of darning, the soft wool did not wear too well in tackety boots.
Meal was no longer the three bolls in the half year but was bought as required out of the loft meal kist. Bakers bread was available from Swanneys and Jock Stout in the Village. Half loafs, cookies, plain or with currants sometimes, sticky buns, rolls. Whit extravagance, boy!! The flour scones, bere bannocks and oatcakes of so many homes were being supplemented with "fancies", if you can remember that old term, from "the van", travelling shops on wheels. Peter Stevenson had 2 gallons paraffin oil at 1/4d per gallon, approx 6p today.
So to May 1942, the last entry of the Wages Book, 1942, though our farming went on. Peter Stevenson had 7 weeks at 52/-, 19 weeks at 65/-, a total for the half a year of £79/19/-. He was the foreman but did not appear to receive any more pay on that account. Willie Peace, John Peace jnr., John Peace snr., all at the same rate of 65/-. Willie Peace had Income Tax at £10/7/6d. John his younger brother Income Tax at £9/10/-. with no reason I know of for the difference.
Tom Anderson appears at 39/-.a week, looks a fair rate for a young lad against the rates for the older men on full wage. He went to school with me, a year or two older, but we had the distinction of being together belted by Mr John Drever, Headmaster. I was in Class 4, Tom in Class 5. There was a follow on to that incident, well earned because we sniggered while lining up after playtime. When Mr Drever looked for the strap he was, temporarily, unable to find it. A pile of jotters on his desk were sent sailing skywards in his exasperation. Unfortunately, there was a large circular ventilator opening in the ceiling, half of the jotters sailed through, and did not come down again. He found the belt.
Many years later the school was being refurbished, and I asked Tommy Rendall, who had been on that job, if Mr Drever's room had been re-roofed. It had. When I asked him if a pile of jotters had been found in the roof space, all he could say was "How the H*** did you know about that? All I could say was “I was there!!” Incidentally, Tom Anderson’s Insurance was 2d a week, his N.H. also 2d. And his was the very last entry in the book in May 1942..
Over the 36 years of the Wages Book until it finished 28th May 1942 pay had moved from £9 in the half year at the B'of Rothiesholm in 1906 to £79 at Whitehaa for the half year to 28th May, made up of 7 weeks at 52/-, and 19 weeks at 65/-. which was for Peter Stevenson. A full half year at 65/- would have been £84/10/00d.
Perquisites had risen. Holidays with pay came in, not a lot. Time off sick was un-payed. Maybe a half-day as maternity leave, or a funereal. Stronsay favoured Sunday funereals, fitted in between morning and evening services at the Church. The men were clean and dressed anyway, practical. Did not take time off work!! Houses were being improved somewhat on the larger farms. Usual first step was a small add-on kitchen at the back of the house, mostly built by the men themselves with some help from knacky neighbours, with material being supplied by the farmer, sometimes no more than timber and asbestos sheets. An equally small front-door porch which did good service in many ways apart from keeping out some drafts, uses such as the men’s outdoor boots and clothes, a spare bucket or two, a bag of feed for the chooks.. Most men could keep a pig for themselves, and a few hens. Somewhere in the book I could analyse prices by deduction but that is a more general look at farming. There are not too many left who can correct my errors, but of The Men O’ Whitehaa there are still a few around.
Long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
THE MINIMUM WAGE.
So we come to the last of the long look back to yesterday, back to the "Men of the Bu'," the "Men of Hobbister", the "Men of Whitehaa", the period leading into the War of 1939 – 1945. Comes 1938, war on the horizon, men in the "Terriers", the year my father bought his very first tractor from J. and W. Tait, a Massey Harris Pacemaker, his cousin Charlie Tait, a tractor which started on petrol, and then ran on paraffin when hot enough. At the time he said a war was coming, and so it did. That first tractor was the beginning of the eventual total elimination of the horse from our farming.
The minimum wage appears in the Wages Book for the very first time, when minimum wage actually started I do not know, but assume in 1938. We have heard the phrase many a time since. Wages had remained pretty static from 1919 to 1938. The intervening years had been without great incident. Jamie Moodie bought a half barrel of herring in 1927 for £1/5/-, a 4 bushel sack [224lbs or 100 kgs ] of bere at 10/-.. and a half boll [70lbs ] of bere meal at 10/- in 1928. In March 1928 Wm Marwick bought 2 cwts of bere and drying for £1.4.6d. So too did Sincy Shearer and Sunlocks Miller. Jamie Moodie again had 4cwts. As Whitehaa had no drying kiln this had to be dried at The Stronsay Meal Mill. I can only guess that the men were getting beremeal ground for themselves as malt would first be sprouted in a sweet bed in the loft and then taken to “The Mill” for drying and grinding for brewing.
Wool ran around 1/- a lb., used greatly by the mens’ wives for home spinning and knitting. Coal was around 3 tons a half year but varied with a carry over from one year to another. No peats on Whitehall, Rothiesholm Head and its peat banks was too far away and coal was conveniently handy in the Village. John Hutchison had a doctor's bill for 4/- paid by the farm in 1922, and deducted from his wages. Hard times indeed. Insurance was by the old weekly stamped card, with Sunlocks Miller having two weeks unstamped in 1923 as he was off work. Sunlocks bought two young weaned pigs for £1, we called them grices. Potatoes were sold by the barrel, I guess about one cwt but perhaps nearer a boll of 140 lbs. The 1925 harvest had the entries of extra workers Geo Taylor, £6.12.6d, Sam Reid ditto, Andrew W'mson £6.3/-, Jamie Reid £5.12/-., Mary Tulloch £8.9/-., Jas Miller £6. Maggie Hutchison had £5.14/-. Most of these lived in the Village, would have worked there in the herring season, farm casual work if they could get it when the herring moved South. They spoke of “lifting the harvest”, which was just that with so much bending to gather and tie the sheaves after the reaper, or even the scythe, and lift them into a stook. Or lifting the sheaves after the binder. Good for the waist I would think.
Then In November 1938 the first entry of the Minimum Wage. Sincy Shearer had £27/15/- in the half year, as did Peter and Gillies Stevenson from Burragate in Rousam. Ned Norquoy had £26.5/10d, younger then and not yet on the full rate. He came with us to Greenland Mains in 1944, moved latterly to Greenvale with John Mackenzie. Gillies Stevenson had £2.10/- extra as cattleman in 1939. James Norquoy had ”Harvest” in 1938 less rent £11/16/-, and 4 weeks as cattleman at 34/6d a week. He appears in 1939 as full time cattleman, minimum wage, 34/6d a week. Looks like he worked in 1938 as a harvest hand, then stayed on as a full time employee.
By the writing our mother was doing the books by May 1939, the Minimum Rate was £44.17/- for the half year at 34/6d a week. The earlier £27.15 of Nov. 1938 was with the perquisites entered as extra, while by May 1939 she had changed to applying the minimum on the top line, and then subtracting the perquisites, same result. In May of 1939 Sinclair Shearer, World War 1 veteran, in his last half year before his retirement, had Minimum Wage of £44.17/- for the half year. From that was deducted:- Rent: £3., Meal 10/-, Milk £2/12/9.5d, Coal £1/4/11d., 6 st oats 5/6d., Insurance £1/1/8d., Unemployment 8/8d., by Cash, £20/00/00d., leaving a balance due of £29/3/6.5d. To that had been added an extra £2.12/-, in all a top line of £47.9/-, and a balance after deductions of £18/5/5d. paid.
Jamie Norquoy had 2 cwt potatoes at 5/- the cwt., milk at £5/5/7d, indicating that milk was to be paid for at the quantity required. He had Swanney's account deducted at £5.9..111/2d, credit charged to him but paid and deducted by my father from his wages. Peter Stevenson had coal supplied at 591/2d cwts, no apparent charge so that was a perquisite supplied free. In May 1940 he had a deduction of £19./9/4d. for full cost, appears to have been a standard rate for a presumed specified supply of extras such as a certain predetermined amount of milk, coal and potatoes.
War came in September, 1939, as our father predicted, and so too the dreaded Income Tax, though only charged against unmarried John Peace jnr, his married cattleman father John paying nothing. John's brother Willie, also unmarried, had Income Tax. £5 from each of them. May 1941 saw the Minimum going up to 52/- a week, a fleece of wool of 6lbs bought by John Peace snr was 8/-, 1/4d a lb. Whether that was the fleece that we saw Mrs Peace spinning into wool, to then knit stockings or jerseys for her men I do not know, but we watched her skill many a time at the spinning wheel, though her knitting fingers were too fast for our eyes to follow. She bought some white wool, some black, the resulting blended double-twist thread giving a traditional grey-speckled gansy. Quite attractive too. Or thick socks but they needed a fair bit of darning, the soft wool did not wear too well in tackety boots.
Meal was no longer the three bolls in the half year but was bought as required out of the loft meal kist. Bakers bread was available from Swanneys and Jock Stout in the Village. Half loafs, cookies, plain or with currants sometimes, sticky buns, rolls. Whit extravagance, boy!! The flour scones, bere bannocks and oatcakes of so many homes were being supplemented with "fancies", if you can remember that old term, from "the van", travelling shops on wheels. Peter Stevenson had 2 gallons paraffin oil at 1/4d per gallon, approx 6p today.
So to May 1942, the last entry of the Wages Book, 1942, though our farming went on. Peter Stevenson had 7 weeks at 52/-, 19 weeks at 65/-, a total for the half a year of £79/19/-. He was the foreman but did not appear to receive any more pay on that account. Willie Peace, John Peace jnr., John Peace snr., all at the same rate of 65/-. Willie Peace had Income Tax at £10/7/6d. John his younger brother Income Tax at £9/10/-. with no reason I know of for the difference.
Tom Anderson appears at 39/-.a week, looks a fair rate for a young lad against the rates for the older men on full wage. He went to school with me, a year or two older, but we had the distinction of being together belted by Mr John Drever, Headmaster. I was in Class 4, Tom in Class 5. There was a follow on to that incident, well earned because we sniggered while lining up after playtime. When Mr Drever looked for the strap he was, temporarily, unable to find it. A pile of jotters on his desk were sent sailing skywards in his exasperation. Unfortunately, there was a large circular ventilator opening in the ceiling, half of the jotters sailed through, and did not come down again. He found the belt.
Many years later the school was being refurbished, and I asked Tommy Rendall, who had been on that job, if Mr Drever's room had been re-roofed. It had. When I asked him if a pile of jotters had been found in the roof space, all he could say was "How the H*** did you know about that? All I could say was “I was there!!” Incidentally, Tom Anderson’s Insurance was 2d a week, his N.H. also 2d. And his was the very last entry in the book in May 1942..
Over the 36 years of the Wages Book until it finished 28th May 1942 pay had moved from £9 in the half year at the B'of Rothiesholm in 1906 to £79 at Whitehaa for the half year to 28th May, made up of 7 weeks at 52/-, and 19 weeks at 65/-. which was for Peter Stevenson. A full half year at 65/- would have been £84/10/00d.
Perquisites had risen. Holidays with pay came in, not a lot. Time off sick was un-payed. Maybe a half-day as maternity leave, or a funereal. Stronsay favoured Sunday funereals, fitted in between morning and evening services at the Church. The men were clean and dressed anyway, practical. Did not take time off work!! Houses were being improved somewhat on the larger farms. Usual first step was a small add-on kitchen at the back of the house, mostly built by the men themselves with some help from knacky neighbours, with material being supplied by the farmer, sometimes no more than timber and asbestos sheets. An equally small front-door porch which did good service in many ways apart from keeping out some drafts, uses such as the men’s outdoor boots and clothes, a spare bucket or two, a bag of feed for the chooks.. Most men could keep a pig for themselves, and a few hens. Somewhere in the book I could analyse prices by deduction but that is a more general look at farming. There are not too many left who can correct my errors, but of The Men O’ Whitehaa there are still a few around.
Saturday, 16 May 2009
THE MEN O' WHITEHAA NO 1.
RAIN ON MY WINDOW.
A long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
The Men o’ Whitehaa No1. revised 2nd March 2009.
We left Hobbister for Whitehall in Stronsay on 18th Nov. 1919. The War was over. The Hobbister wages book closed with final entries for the last 6 month half year at Hobbister up to November, 1919, of £30 for Peter Guthrie and Kemp, £26 for David Swanney, There was £10/10/- for James Scobie, a halfling or lad, £10 for Maggie Miller. All that is left for me of Hobbister is the thought that Highland Park, my favourite Malt Whisky, is still made with peats cut on the Hobbister Hill where our family cut theirs so very long ago. Though the family were in Hobbister but a short six years, it was a time of great significance for the family other than mere farming. From there the final scattering of my grand-parents family into the outer World as so very many Scottish families scatter on growing up. Some had already gone before Hobbister. John, their first born, went to New Zealand as a surgeon in Gisborne and then to Invercargill following a spell in South Africa, Bill to farm on the prairie in Alberta in Canada, to return later through Red Hill in Rothienorman in Aberdeenshire to finally farm Cleat in Westray in Orkney. David in his early days of the practice of Medicine after graduating in 1911 from Edinburgh, the hell of two World Wars in the R.A.M.C. still ahead of him. Nan got married in 1916 but stayed at Hobbister while her husband George Flett was in France in the Artillery. Jeannie had married Pat Johnston, a tailor in Stromness, only to die in childbirth. Their only daughter Thora was with us in Stromness till 2005, aged 90. Steven the youngest brother off to Edinburgh to study Medicine. Only our father Tom was still at home farming, which takes us to Whitehaa in Stronsay.
The first entry for Whitehaa was the six months to 28th May 1920, wages dropping from
the explosive last half year in Hobbister. First entry was £20 for Jamie Shearer, cattleman at Whitehaa in 28th May 1920. He remained in the Book until his last pay day in Nov. 1936 when he retired to live in the Village, still appearing at Whitehaa at times to see that his cattle were being looked after as well as he had done. I remember him well, still quite fit, stocky build, blue well-washed dungaree trousers and a thick hand-knitted pepper-and-salt gansey his usual uniform.
There was £18.5.1d for Sinclair Shearer, foreman as I knew him, back from the Great War in one piece with his medals, a smallish, neat, hard man, overshadowed by his wife Mary. Sunlocks Miller at £16.15.1d Jamie Miller at £20, Jamie Miller jun. at £12, Pat Shearer at £15. This would have been Ould Pat, as good a man with wood and a chisel as you could find. He made a creepie [ small stool] and a bairn's chair for us, showed me how to make a bow and arrow. As an old man and retired he would be found many a day in the workshop on the farm, repairing this or that. He gave my father as sharp a knife as ever I saw, kept by him for many a long year and much used for castrating calves or piglets, a very necessary farm task but not discussed round the dining table!!! .
The staff continued with Andrew Shearer, £20; John Hutchison, £16. Mary Tulloch, £12, Mary Shearer, £12. Both worked in the "Big Hoos" and also milked the cows. Mary Shearer died suddenly of her heart. And that completes the first payday on 28th May 1920, following November 1919 when they returned to Stronsay. Sinclair Shearer, "Sincy", had previously been with the family at the Bu' of Rothiesholm at £8 in the half year to May of 1913, a young lad then before going to War..
The handwriting changed in the Book in May 1920, an indication that my father's hand was taking over from his father, as sons tend to do. There was a story that my father said to his aging father that there was only room for one boss at Whitehaa, and it was going to be him!! I have tried, unsuccessfully sometimes, to remember that!! As my grandfather was 68 at the time of entry to Whitehall in Nov.1919, fair enough. That was the farm staff of Whitehaa, a good 450 acre farm, wages still paid on the half year basis. I have no accurate memory of how much crop was grown, or what stock of cows and ewes were carried. Certainly horse power held sway.
But now into the reckoning came an increase in worker's perquisites, either due as part of their wages or purchased from the farm. Jamie Shearer bought 2 stone of oil cake, he had bought a calf at £2.10/- from the farm, and was presumably rearing it for himself. The oil cake cost 7/- for the 2 stone - 14 lbs the stone. Forget about kgs. He could also have had his own milking cow. He had 15cwts of coal, easily got in Stronsay with the herring fishing going full bore. Davie Chalmers the Stronsay coal merchant had his coal-yard at the head of the pier and his coaling ships or hulks for the herring drifters lay at anchor below Whitehall in the Bay of Franks. Oats were being bought by the men, a sign of hens being kept. Coal at 2/6d the cwt., oats at 12/9d the bushel of 42lbs. Insurance was still at 8/8d for the half year. Sunlocks Miller had 10cwts coal. With a name like Sunlocks it must be stated that there was not a blacker haired man in all of Stronsay, jet black. And when I remember him later, no longer working for our father but with a small farm of his own in the South End, a lover of a right smart horse in the gig. And a real cracker of a horse at that. We would watch from the House on steamer day to see his gig going home across the Ayre o’ the Myres, and from nearly a mile distance we would recognise the beautiful spanking gait of Sunlock’s horse. Wildly beautiful.
James Miller had 14cwt 2 st. of coal on Nov. 28th, again 15cwts coal on Feb. 1st., also at 2/6d. Peter Shearer 14cwt 6st. coal. This provision of coal went on for many years, not part of the wages but supplied by the farm and charged for. Coal was a big thing, my memory takes me to the horses and carts getting coal direct off the coal boat at Whitehall Pier, weighed on the Weigh Bridge at the head of the pier, and the bridge is still there. Even further, it takes me to Greenland Mains where we went even in my day the ten long miles into Thurso with horses and carts to get our coal supply off the railway wagons, a job I did myself one time on holiday from school. A definite bath needed thereafter!!
On Nov. 10th 1920 Andrew Shearer had a barrel of coal as well as the more normal weight measure. Barrels as a measure had been used for centuries, were going into disuse but still crop up for bulk measure at times for coal, peats, potatoes and oats. Andrew also had 5 lbs of wool, James Miller had 14lbs, James Shearer 5lbs., all at 6/3d a lb. Their wives must have spun and knitted. From distant memory 3 tons coal rings a bell with me. I am guessing when I state that the men got three tons supplied by the farm per half year as part of thier wages, extra being charged for by the farmer. There was an obvious requirement for cash in hand with small advances being paid here and there. Most of the men purchased oats, in my memory they all had hens, most kept a pig, usefully fed on house scraps, killed and cured for themselves. A whole pig was a bit much for one household but the system was much of sharing, perhaps half a pig to some one else who in due time returned the compliment. They made good use of the farm dairy to do their butchering, plenty room and good solid flagstone shelves.
The "girls" at £12 each would have been dairy milkers as well as the house work they did, butter to churn, cheese to make, homebrew to bottle, and drink!!. The seasonal summer herring fishing workers needed a large amount of milk, and the farms of Hunton, Clestrain, Whitehaa, possibly others I know not of, kept milking cows for that summer trade. And when the herring moved south to shoal off Wick and the fishing boats and the workers followed, then the milk was made into all the products one can think of. Girls who worked in the "Big Hoos" did not get much wages, surviving on room and board and a little cash. .
So much for the first six months at Whitehaa. There is much to study and perhaps to guess at in the Wages Book, I cannot ask for corrections from those who knew better, now all gone. I try my best, hoping it is enough.
We move on to 1920, James Moodie starts on 18th August but was paid previously on June 28th and July 10th. He must have worked for my father during the herring season, and then became a full time employee on the farm on 18th August when the season had closed? That is my guess.
Time moves on a bit, and entries appear for coal "ex store", which was from Chalmers coal yard in the Village. Conversely, it could have been out of the tarred roof coal-shed store on the farm. It was vastly more convenient to cart coal straight from the coal boat rather than load into a cart by hand off the storeyard floor, and I remember just that operation. Whitehaa was a mile from the pier-head, and providing carts to carry direct from the coal boat was easy enough, though a very black and dusty job.
The year 1920 saw a blip in Wages, James Shearer went up to £30, as did James Moodie, Sinclair Shearer to £30, Sunlocks Miller to £28. This did not last long as farming went into one of it's periodic slumps, and by 1922 £30 had dropped back to £26 in the half year, and then to £24, levelling off by 1926 at around £22 for Sinclair Shearer. Each man made his own bargain, variable, reflecting whether foreman, horseman or cattleman. The date of 1938 is the first I came across the phrase "Minimum Wage", no doubt a milestone in farm worker's welfare and reward, if that is the correct word. And that can later be our concluding part of this "Men O' Whitehaa", with the "Minimum Wage" for the next article.
A long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
The Men o’ Whitehaa No1. revised 2nd March 2009.
We left Hobbister for Whitehall in Stronsay on 18th Nov. 1919. The War was over. The Hobbister wages book closed with final entries for the last 6 month half year at Hobbister up to November, 1919, of £30 for Peter Guthrie and Kemp, £26 for David Swanney, There was £10/10/- for James Scobie, a halfling or lad, £10 for Maggie Miller. All that is left for me of Hobbister is the thought that Highland Park, my favourite Malt Whisky, is still made with peats cut on the Hobbister Hill where our family cut theirs so very long ago. Though the family were in Hobbister but a short six years, it was a time of great significance for the family other than mere farming. From there the final scattering of my grand-parents family into the outer World as so very many Scottish families scatter on growing up. Some had already gone before Hobbister. John, their first born, went to New Zealand as a surgeon in Gisborne and then to Invercargill following a spell in South Africa, Bill to farm on the prairie in Alberta in Canada, to return later through Red Hill in Rothienorman in Aberdeenshire to finally farm Cleat in Westray in Orkney. David in his early days of the practice of Medicine after graduating in 1911 from Edinburgh, the hell of two World Wars in the R.A.M.C. still ahead of him. Nan got married in 1916 but stayed at Hobbister while her husband George Flett was in France in the Artillery. Jeannie had married Pat Johnston, a tailor in Stromness, only to die in childbirth. Their only daughter Thora was with us in Stromness till 2005, aged 90. Steven the youngest brother off to Edinburgh to study Medicine. Only our father Tom was still at home farming, which takes us to Whitehaa in Stronsay.
The first entry for Whitehaa was the six months to 28th May 1920, wages dropping from
the explosive last half year in Hobbister. First entry was £20 for Jamie Shearer, cattleman at Whitehaa in 28th May 1920. He remained in the Book until his last pay day in Nov. 1936 when he retired to live in the Village, still appearing at Whitehaa at times to see that his cattle were being looked after as well as he had done. I remember him well, still quite fit, stocky build, blue well-washed dungaree trousers and a thick hand-knitted pepper-and-salt gansey his usual uniform.
There was £18.5.1d for Sinclair Shearer, foreman as I knew him, back from the Great War in one piece with his medals, a smallish, neat, hard man, overshadowed by his wife Mary. Sunlocks Miller at £16.15.1d Jamie Miller at £20, Jamie Miller jun. at £12, Pat Shearer at £15. This would have been Ould Pat, as good a man with wood and a chisel as you could find. He made a creepie [ small stool] and a bairn's chair for us, showed me how to make a bow and arrow. As an old man and retired he would be found many a day in the workshop on the farm, repairing this or that. He gave my father as sharp a knife as ever I saw, kept by him for many a long year and much used for castrating calves or piglets, a very necessary farm task but not discussed round the dining table!!! .
The staff continued with Andrew Shearer, £20; John Hutchison, £16. Mary Tulloch, £12, Mary Shearer, £12. Both worked in the "Big Hoos" and also milked the cows. Mary Shearer died suddenly of her heart. And that completes the first payday on 28th May 1920, following November 1919 when they returned to Stronsay. Sinclair Shearer, "Sincy", had previously been with the family at the Bu' of Rothiesholm at £8 in the half year to May of 1913, a young lad then before going to War..
The handwriting changed in the Book in May 1920, an indication that my father's hand was taking over from his father, as sons tend to do. There was a story that my father said to his aging father that there was only room for one boss at Whitehaa, and it was going to be him!! I have tried, unsuccessfully sometimes, to remember that!! As my grandfather was 68 at the time of entry to Whitehall in Nov.1919, fair enough. That was the farm staff of Whitehaa, a good 450 acre farm, wages still paid on the half year basis. I have no accurate memory of how much crop was grown, or what stock of cows and ewes were carried. Certainly horse power held sway.
But now into the reckoning came an increase in worker's perquisites, either due as part of their wages or purchased from the farm. Jamie Shearer bought 2 stone of oil cake, he had bought a calf at £2.10/- from the farm, and was presumably rearing it for himself. The oil cake cost 7/- for the 2 stone - 14 lbs the stone. Forget about kgs. He could also have had his own milking cow. He had 15cwts of coal, easily got in Stronsay with the herring fishing going full bore. Davie Chalmers the Stronsay coal merchant had his coal-yard at the head of the pier and his coaling ships or hulks for the herring drifters lay at anchor below Whitehall in the Bay of Franks. Oats were being bought by the men, a sign of hens being kept. Coal at 2/6d the cwt., oats at 12/9d the bushel of 42lbs. Insurance was still at 8/8d for the half year. Sunlocks Miller had 10cwts coal. With a name like Sunlocks it must be stated that there was not a blacker haired man in all of Stronsay, jet black. And when I remember him later, no longer working for our father but with a small farm of his own in the South End, a lover of a right smart horse in the gig. And a real cracker of a horse at that. We would watch from the House on steamer day to see his gig going home across the Ayre o’ the Myres, and from nearly a mile distance we would recognise the beautiful spanking gait of Sunlock’s horse. Wildly beautiful.
James Miller had 14cwt 2 st. of coal on Nov. 28th, again 15cwts coal on Feb. 1st., also at 2/6d. Peter Shearer 14cwt 6st. coal. This provision of coal went on for many years, not part of the wages but supplied by the farm and charged for. Coal was a big thing, my memory takes me to the horses and carts getting coal direct off the coal boat at Whitehall Pier, weighed on the Weigh Bridge at the head of the pier, and the bridge is still there. Even further, it takes me to Greenland Mains where we went even in my day the ten long miles into Thurso with horses and carts to get our coal supply off the railway wagons, a job I did myself one time on holiday from school. A definite bath needed thereafter!!
On Nov. 10th 1920 Andrew Shearer had a barrel of coal as well as the more normal weight measure. Barrels as a measure had been used for centuries, were going into disuse but still crop up for bulk measure at times for coal, peats, potatoes and oats. Andrew also had 5 lbs of wool, James Miller had 14lbs, James Shearer 5lbs., all at 6/3d a lb. Their wives must have spun and knitted. From distant memory 3 tons coal rings a bell with me. I am guessing when I state that the men got three tons supplied by the farm per half year as part of thier wages, extra being charged for by the farmer. There was an obvious requirement for cash in hand with small advances being paid here and there. Most of the men purchased oats, in my memory they all had hens, most kept a pig, usefully fed on house scraps, killed and cured for themselves. A whole pig was a bit much for one household but the system was much of sharing, perhaps half a pig to some one else who in due time returned the compliment. They made good use of the farm dairy to do their butchering, plenty room and good solid flagstone shelves.
The "girls" at £12 each would have been dairy milkers as well as the house work they did, butter to churn, cheese to make, homebrew to bottle, and drink!!. The seasonal summer herring fishing workers needed a large amount of milk, and the farms of Hunton, Clestrain, Whitehaa, possibly others I know not of, kept milking cows for that summer trade. And when the herring moved south to shoal off Wick and the fishing boats and the workers followed, then the milk was made into all the products one can think of. Girls who worked in the "Big Hoos" did not get much wages, surviving on room and board and a little cash. .
So much for the first six months at Whitehaa. There is much to study and perhaps to guess at in the Wages Book, I cannot ask for corrections from those who knew better, now all gone. I try my best, hoping it is enough.
We move on to 1920, James Moodie starts on 18th August but was paid previously on June 28th and July 10th. He must have worked for my father during the herring season, and then became a full time employee on the farm on 18th August when the season had closed? That is my guess.
Time moves on a bit, and entries appear for coal "ex store", which was from Chalmers coal yard in the Village. Conversely, it could have been out of the tarred roof coal-shed store on the farm. It was vastly more convenient to cart coal straight from the coal boat rather than load into a cart by hand off the storeyard floor, and I remember just that operation. Whitehaa was a mile from the pier-head, and providing carts to carry direct from the coal boat was easy enough, though a very black and dusty job.
The year 1920 saw a blip in Wages, James Shearer went up to £30, as did James Moodie, Sinclair Shearer to £30, Sunlocks Miller to £28. This did not last long as farming went into one of it's periodic slumps, and by 1922 £30 had dropped back to £26 in the half year, and then to £24, levelling off by 1926 at around £22 for Sinclair Shearer. Each man made his own bargain, variable, reflecting whether foreman, horseman or cattleman. The date of 1938 is the first I came across the phrase "Minimum Wage", no doubt a milestone in farm worker's welfare and reward, if that is the correct word. And that can later be our concluding part of this "Men O' Whitehaa", with the "Minimum Wage" for the next article.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Friday, 1 May 2009
No 47. Cattle tied by the neck.
A long time ago, but yesterday too. Rain On My Window (Tears in My Eyes) will be an ongoing tale of my early memories of life shared by my younger brother David on Whitehall Farm in Stronsay, Orkney, of our childhood on a working farm in the 1930s before we lost our innocence.
No 48. CATTLE TIED BY THE NECK.
When I wrote of our father building the “Madhoos” at Airy as the first loose cattle housing in Stronsay, and as I come in from a steading of cattle housed on slatted floors and straw-bedded courts at Isauld, I think back to early days in Whitehall and how the livestock were winter housed. Everything, but everything, was tied by the neck, both horses and cattle. Even Old Spot the farm dog was on his chain for the night, though he was trustworthy enough. I do not remember the numbers of cattle each byre held, nor how many cows, nor how many feeders. But I do remember the byres and the steading, the various connecting doors, and the dung middens which were works of art, not a heap of s*** as so many today would call it. Sides well dressed, tidy and straight, corners squared off, all time consuming work but therer was no T.V. then. The midden plank was placed just so though it had to be frequently moved on or over as more barrow loads came out and the midden grew large over the winter. Usually a long wide midden plank or two as a high road, often found on the beach off some wreck, and some smaller shorter planks leading off to a side, shifted on as need be, with a turn-corner to be very carefully negotiated with the dung barrow.
But the cattle is what we are looking at. At the upper end of the steading was the sookers [sucklers] byre, the cows and their calves, the big Aberdeen Angus bull in a single large stall at the end next the chaff house and the barn. I will at this space of time take a wild guess and say we had 24 cows in that byre and a few milkers in the feeders byre. They were all tied by the neck two to a stall by a chain we called a neck chain but in Caithness called by the Gaelic name of “ask”. The divisions between each pair we called beel stones but again the Caithness name is “Hallans”. A solid four-inch thick flagstone perhaps five feet high and about six feet long from the head wall, well set into the floor, about 18 inches deep at a guess, though I took some out of one byre at Isauld and put them in another so I should know. Anyway they were solidly fixed into the ground. The floor itself was also of flagstones, possibly imported from Caithness. I remember Jeemie Moad at Airy making on the farm some beel stones for a new byre out of concrete and re-inforcing steel, a common enough practice later in both my Counties. In front of the cows was a feed stall, a 9 inch high stone kerb about 18inches out from the wall and always with a stone centre divider. It helped the cows to get a good bite at a neep (turnip) and to give each a fair share with her partner. Their neck chain was just so long that a cow could not reach in front of her partner to steal a tit-bit, though some would try, tongue reaching out to lick a leaf nearer.
The ask was on a ring on a near verticle slider to allow room to move up and down for a cow to reach the heck or rack above their heads in which were the straw windlins, or perhaps some loose hay if lucky. Heck is an old Norwegian word still used there, so “The Vikings were here”, both in Orkney and in Caithness. Old Norse also had “Halla” for flagstone, still do. On the chain was a swivel and one of the cattleman’s duties was to see that it was well oiled, otherwise it could lock and inconvenience the cow with a twisted ask. . Three large rings spaced along the chain allowed adjustment for a larger or smaller neck, or even a knot could be tied on the chain for smaller cattle. Very important too was for the cattleman to check regularly that the chain was not too tight and cutting into the top of the neck of a beast. I must admit I have seen it, and it could be a really stinking mess if undetected for too long. Cattle did grow during the winter and a chain that fitted tight at tying up time would usually have to be adjusted later.
Behind the cow was a small step downwards into the oddle, in Caithness the strand. This helped to keep the cows all the drier by draining away liquid. And dung. That step varied wildly in height according to what or whose byre you were in. Along the oddle a practiced cattleman could push amazing heaps of dung towards the door with a byre scraper
Behind the cows on the opposite wall the calves were tied, each with a neck rope, usually directly behind their mother so they could speak to each other. Again the neck-loop in the rope had to be just so, a knot in the rope preventing it becoming a hanging noose. The calves were suckled either two or three times a day, the rope tucked in around the neck to keep it out of the muck on the floor, but that could be quite a struggle with a growing calf anxious to get to mamma. Sometimes they won, their rope trailing in the dirt.
Calves were usually born at Whitehall in early Spring from February onwards, though there would be an occasional cow that broke the rules and had an autumn calf. A long winter of suckling lay ahead of it. Later at Greenland Mains father had enough room in some byres to have a cow with her calf tied beside her in the stall, allowing the cow to move diagonally across and the calf to suckle without being loosened. Quite handy but needed spare stalls.
The next byres in order were the calfie byres, three of them at the top of the square and lying across the building, three stalls each side of a central passage. They had small stalls and each byre held twelve weaned calves, about six months old when they came in at Autumn time. Getting them tied in their stalls was a pantomime, a rope with a loop, a lasso, and try to throw it over the calf’s head. Father was pretty good at it, but that skill was not universal. Then the rope through the slider, a couple of men on the other end, and the calf was pulled into place, the chain fastened around it’s neck, and the calf was there for the winter. Hallans were smaller, hecks were lower, stalls were narrower, fit for purpose. There were no water bowls at all, any water, if needed, had to be carried in buckets, usually to cows that were milking for the house and needed more liquid. But that tremendous crop called turnips [neeps] filled all water requirements, being a succulent with a water content of nearly 90%, swede turnips being solider and more nutritious than yellows, but later maturing and keeping well for Spring use. A full basket each cattle beast in two split feeds morning and afternoon provided all the water needed, baskets filled according to the size of cattle of course. Yellows for the cows and younger cattle to be grazed next summer, swedes usually for the feeders or the milking cows. And big feeders would get more than a basket, indeed fed to appetite by very knowledgable cattlemen.
The yearling byre was on the low side of the Square, the Long Loft above it so it was the warmest byre, larger stalls than the calfies but otherwise the same pattern. Below it was the feeders byre with the largest stalls, the ones next the farm house for the milking cows. A corn kist half way along, partitioned in two, a larger side for bruised oats, a smaller side for precious linseed oilcake. It had a lock with a fastening pin in case any beast got inadvertently loose in the night, opened the lid and killed itself by gorging. Beside the kist the wooden feed boxes were stacked, oblong ones and round ones. The oblong ones were better for carrying than the round, the cattleman taking two in each hand with his fingers gripping two boxes over the top, and one in each oxter, the armpit for those among us who do not know that old word. Six in all at a time. Needed a strong grip. I could only manage four. .
It was a long winter for the cattle all tied by the neck.
No 48. CATTLE TIED BY THE NECK.
When I wrote of our father building the “Madhoos” at Airy as the first loose cattle housing in Stronsay, and as I come in from a steading of cattle housed on slatted floors and straw-bedded courts at Isauld, I think back to early days in Whitehall and how the livestock were winter housed. Everything, but everything, was tied by the neck, both horses and cattle. Even Old Spot the farm dog was on his chain for the night, though he was trustworthy enough. I do not remember the numbers of cattle each byre held, nor how many cows, nor how many feeders. But I do remember the byres and the steading, the various connecting doors, and the dung middens which were works of art, not a heap of s*** as so many today would call it. Sides well dressed, tidy and straight, corners squared off, all time consuming work but therer was no T.V. then. The midden plank was placed just so though it had to be frequently moved on or over as more barrow loads came out and the midden grew large over the winter. Usually a long wide midden plank or two as a high road, often found on the beach off some wreck, and some smaller shorter planks leading off to a side, shifted on as need be, with a turn-corner to be very carefully negotiated with the dung barrow.
But the cattle is what we are looking at. At the upper end of the steading was the sookers [sucklers] byre, the cows and their calves, the big Aberdeen Angus bull in a single large stall at the end next the chaff house and the barn. I will at this space of time take a wild guess and say we had 24 cows in that byre and a few milkers in the feeders byre. They were all tied by the neck two to a stall by a chain we called a neck chain but in Caithness called by the Gaelic name of “ask”. The divisions between each pair we called beel stones but again the Caithness name is “Hallans”. A solid four-inch thick flagstone perhaps five feet high and about six feet long from the head wall, well set into the floor, about 18 inches deep at a guess, though I took some out of one byre at Isauld and put them in another so I should know. Anyway they were solidly fixed into the ground. The floor itself was also of flagstones, possibly imported from Caithness. I remember Jeemie Moad at Airy making on the farm some beel stones for a new byre out of concrete and re-inforcing steel, a common enough practice later in both my Counties. In front of the cows was a feed stall, a 9 inch high stone kerb about 18inches out from the wall and always with a stone centre divider. It helped the cows to get a good bite at a neep (turnip) and to give each a fair share with her partner. Their neck chain was just so long that a cow could not reach in front of her partner to steal a tit-bit, though some would try, tongue reaching out to lick a leaf nearer.
The ask was on a ring on a near verticle slider to allow room to move up and down for a cow to reach the heck or rack above their heads in which were the straw windlins, or perhaps some loose hay if lucky. Heck is an old Norwegian word still used there, so “The Vikings were here”, both in Orkney and in Caithness. Old Norse also had “Halla” for flagstone, still do. On the chain was a swivel and one of the cattleman’s duties was to see that it was well oiled, otherwise it could lock and inconvenience the cow with a twisted ask. . Three large rings spaced along the chain allowed adjustment for a larger or smaller neck, or even a knot could be tied on the chain for smaller cattle. Very important too was for the cattleman to check regularly that the chain was not too tight and cutting into the top of the neck of a beast. I must admit I have seen it, and it could be a really stinking mess if undetected for too long. Cattle did grow during the winter and a chain that fitted tight at tying up time would usually have to be adjusted later.
Behind the cow was a small step downwards into the oddle, in Caithness the strand. This helped to keep the cows all the drier by draining away liquid. And dung. That step varied wildly in height according to what or whose byre you were in. Along the oddle a practiced cattleman could push amazing heaps of dung towards the door with a byre scraper
Behind the cows on the opposite wall the calves were tied, each with a neck rope, usually directly behind their mother so they could speak to each other. Again the neck-loop in the rope had to be just so, a knot in the rope preventing it becoming a hanging noose. The calves were suckled either two or three times a day, the rope tucked in around the neck to keep it out of the muck on the floor, but that could be quite a struggle with a growing calf anxious to get to mamma. Sometimes they won, their rope trailing in the dirt.
Calves were usually born at Whitehall in early Spring from February onwards, though there would be an occasional cow that broke the rules and had an autumn calf. A long winter of suckling lay ahead of it. Later at Greenland Mains father had enough room in some byres to have a cow with her calf tied beside her in the stall, allowing the cow to move diagonally across and the calf to suckle without being loosened. Quite handy but needed spare stalls.
The next byres in order were the calfie byres, three of them at the top of the square and lying across the building, three stalls each side of a central passage. They had small stalls and each byre held twelve weaned calves, about six months old when they came in at Autumn time. Getting them tied in their stalls was a pantomime, a rope with a loop, a lasso, and try to throw it over the calf’s head. Father was pretty good at it, but that skill was not universal. Then the rope through the slider, a couple of men on the other end, and the calf was pulled into place, the chain fastened around it’s neck, and the calf was there for the winter. Hallans were smaller, hecks were lower, stalls were narrower, fit for purpose. There were no water bowls at all, any water, if needed, had to be carried in buckets, usually to cows that were milking for the house and needed more liquid. But that tremendous crop called turnips [neeps] filled all water requirements, being a succulent with a water content of nearly 90%, swede turnips being solider and more nutritious than yellows, but later maturing and keeping well for Spring use. A full basket each cattle beast in two split feeds morning and afternoon provided all the water needed, baskets filled according to the size of cattle of course. Yellows for the cows and younger cattle to be grazed next summer, swedes usually for the feeders or the milking cows. And big feeders would get more than a basket, indeed fed to appetite by very knowledgable cattlemen.
The yearling byre was on the low side of the Square, the Long Loft above it so it was the warmest byre, larger stalls than the calfies but otherwise the same pattern. Below it was the feeders byre with the largest stalls, the ones next the farm house for the milking cows. A corn kist half way along, partitioned in two, a larger side for bruised oats, a smaller side for precious linseed oilcake. It had a lock with a fastening pin in case any beast got inadvertently loose in the night, opened the lid and killed itself by gorging. Beside the kist the wooden feed boxes were stacked, oblong ones and round ones. The oblong ones were better for carrying than the round, the cattleman taking two in each hand with his fingers gripping two boxes over the top, and one in each oxter, the armpit for those among us who do not know that old word. Six in all at a time. Needed a strong grip. I could only manage four. .
It was a long winter for the cattle all tied by the neck.
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