No 10. Stooks to the horizon

RAIN ON MY WINDOW, TEARS IN MY EYES. Morris Pottinger
No 10. STOOKS STRETCHING OUT TO THE HORIZON.publ. groat 11th Jan. 2008

Stooking the sheaves was a necessary adjunct to crop cutting, the rows running straight and parallel and true with the field boundaries. But when a lying field had to be cut at an angle - or several angles sometimes - the rows were stooked accordingly across the field. The eight-sheaf stooks were carefully lined up North and South so the sun shone in the morning on one side,and in the afternoon on the other, four pairs of sheaves, two by two, leaning against each other with their bases akimbo to stand the better. And there were many field arguements as to where North really lay!!
There was a lot more to stooking than one would think today. The usual team was two menm ( or women ) but sometimes there were three. Normal stooking in my early days involved six rows of sheaves with the old horse binders, the cuts narrower than with the tractor so more rows were appropriate. We could even do eight rows if the crop was light and that gathered the stooks closer to each other in the row. this was a boon when leading - not so far to move the horse and cart on to the next stook.
0The stooks were built on the centre two rows of sheaves, with four rows it suited two stookers while six or eight rows fitted better for three workers. Each took a sheaf in either hand and set them together at the grain tops at an angle, at the same time spreading and hitting the butt end firmly into the ground and treading it firm like a letter “A”. It was best if that move could be synchronized by the two doing it together, each slightly leaning their two sheaves towards the other, thus making an initial stable stook of four. To that each added two more sheaves at either end. Done properly it gave a wonderful and precise pattern to a field with all eight-sheaf stooks lined up North and South. A few farmers preferred six sheaves as they said the wind went through the stook better.

When a field was lying in one direction the crop had to be cut by the binder to suit that direction - the angle different from the boundary wall. This meant the binder had to return one way empty before the next cut, and a wider track here and there was left between some stook rows to allow this return passage.

Not every day was sunshine, and on many days oilskin leggings all day were essential for the rain-wet sheaves. Dew in the mornings could be equallydamp. And if it was raining then an oilskin coat and a sou’wester would be needed as well. Such garments were sweaty to wear on a long day of hard work, but there was no other way. When I say oilskin coats it was sometimes just that - not the ready made coats of today, or even yesterday, but real old-fashioned oilskins waterproofed with linseed oil by the worker, leaving a not unpleasant if strong smell. This was done well before harvest, then the coats were hung up in the grain loft and the quite sticky oil allowed to dry in.
Even after stooking, the stooks could be ( and often were )blown over by gales; indeed this was normal. Many a wet morning there was stook-drill, the men making their way along the rows and re-stooking the fallen sheaves.

The whole countryside took on a special appearance at harvest time, a patchwork quilt of varied fields of stooks stretching to the horizon - a quite wonderful sight.

Stooks usually needed a minimum of at least three weeks of drying – “winning” it was called -- to be fit to lead into the stackyard, and at times much more. “Growing green” was a well known phrase as the grain sprouted in the stook in a damp or wet and muggy harvest, particularly with short sheaves such as cleanland oats grown after turnips, the stubby sheaves being neater than lea oats but inclined not to dry out so well. This green sprouting necessitated the stooks being shifted onto another spot, thus opening up and loosening the sheaves to let in the air and wind. When the field was undersown with new grass seeds the stooks could quickly mark the young grass they covered. So “shift the stooks” onto a fresh bit of ground was the order of the day for the men. Sometimes in other than new grass fields the stooks were just lifted up a bit and reset, a loosening up for better drying. And we needed a good North wind - cold to be sure - but drying and very welcome for that.
Stooks being gale-blown over was normal,. The men would make their way along the rows, re-stooking the fallen sheaves, at times just to see them blown over again. At its very worst a field could be entirely knocked down, dyke to dyke.
An added excitement to stooking before we had sprays to control weeds was a field thick with thistles, and a good pair of leather gloves was handy - indeed essential. Some people could get quite infected fingers as thistle sores were not too easy to deal with. I remember one man having to poultice a very bad finger. The combine and modern sprays have done away with all that.
The ultimate horror was when sheaves became mouldy in a damp harvest. Then the men had to open the sheaves by bending and turning them around one’s knee to turn the inside straw to the outside air. That laborious task had to be done to get the sheaves dry enough for leading. There were good harvests too but these were few and far between, I fear. The leading in was by horse and cart, with many hands required. Sometimes the stooks would be knocked flat by the men in the morning to expose the grassy bottoms and let the wind dry them enough ready for carting in the afternoon.
At Whitehall there would be two men - sometimes a woman or two - in the field pitch-forking the sheaves from stook to a horseman builder on the cart, usually two carts at a time in the field. The finished load was tied down by two ropes thrown over the load from the back of the cart to the front and tied down to the shafts as tightly as man could pull. Sometimes one of the horsemen took two carts home to the steading, the second well trained horse tied by a lead rein to the back of the first cart, but it was not a rule. Even the carting was not without peril, a load could slip and fall off, and once at Whitehall our father had his cartload and horse entirely blown over. He sat on the horse’s head to keep it quiet until the rest of the men hurried along and got the horse out of the cart shafts without any harm done. A very windy day indeed. Other days we just gave up, sheaves impossible to pitch or catch in the gale, equally impossible to build the stacks in the stackyard. On one memorable occasion at Greenland Mains, in Upper Heilen Field, we gave up trying to cart home when loose gale-driven sheaves went tumbling past us on our way to the gate.
Even the way home had it’s exitement at times. Gates were narrow with hard stone pillars and occasionally a badly-built load would be caught by a gate post and fall to the ground, or partly so. Did nothing for the pride of the builder either.