Singling the neeps.

RAIN ON MY WINDOW.

No 19. Laying down the neeps. Pb 27.06.2008


The most arduous and time consuming task on the farm of Whitehall that I can remember had to be the laying down of the turnip crop. In early May, better still before the end of April if all the crops were sown, the first task was to plough inwards the open ploughing finishes of the field destined for turnips to leave it as level as possible. Then the ground was harrowed and cross harrowed and rolled and grubbed and harrowed and rolled again until a very fine tilth was achieved. In those days before sprays came in weeds in some fields were incredibly thick, the most obnoxious being knot grass and couch grass. These weeds had nodules and roots that survived all ploughing and, where thick enough to warrant it, were gathered by chain link grass harrows crossing and re-crossing the field one way and then the other so the roots were rolled up into large balls, then carted off and dumped at the side of the field, or even carted onto a piece of nearby rough pasture to dry enough to be burnt, or left to rot. Some of these weed middens still survive near a gate, showing now as mere grassy mounds on the surface with their origin probably forgotten. The five pawed grubber was a ferocious tool used to bring up and loosen earth from below, very heavy work and sometimes father had a team of three horses yoked into one grubber if the land was heavy. In retrospect that was the daftest job they ever did as it brought up fresh earth with its new compliment of weed seeds to later germinate and choke the young turnip plants. The very best preparation for turnips was deep ploughing in the autumn and let frost and wind and weather break down the earth to a good tilth and kill the many weed seeds as well, as it still is..
Having finally got the earth fine enough the next task was to open the furrows. This was a shallow furrow at 28 inch centres and dead straight, or meant to be. Then the laborious carting of dung from the farm middens to the field, walking the horse and cart down the rows, pulling off dung from the back of the cart with a hooked dung hack, being followed by a helper who teased out the small heaps even further to leave a line of dung spread evenly and thinly along the bottom of the shallow open furrows. Next the horse drawn spreader to distribute fertiliser over the furrows. This fertiliser was sometimes made up on the farm and mixed by the men with shovels on a shed floor with various bought in straight ingredients from Kirkwall, sometimes with some shell sand incorporated to dilute it somewhat and make it easier to spread. Serious work.
Field now ready and a good dry day in the offing. First the drill ploughs each with its pair of horses, the foreman setting the pace and the line. Not the easiest of tasks to split and close the small opening furrows and heap up a fine sharp pointed ridge. Follow with the two row neep barrow, or sower, one horse, with two small canisters of turnip seed driven from two rollers on top of a pair of furrows. The canisters had small holes which could be opened or closed to get the small amount of seed needed, usually 3 lbs an acre, but at Greenland Mains Father had it down to under a pound. Hard clay ground such as Olrig Mains or East Murkle needed more seed, easily dried out and sometimes had to be sown over again if the seed did not catch. The seed fell into a cut in the centre of the top of the furrow opened by a small disc or shoe, desired depth about 2 inches, no deeper, and a very light roller on the sower following behind to cover the seed. Sowing had to be done right up to the last furrow drilled that day as to leave it meant drying out and seed failure, so don’t come home till you are finished. The whole work took days on end.
The turnip seed took from three days to longer to germinate and show above the ground, a shower or two of rain helped. Three weeks minimum and the rows were ready for thinning or singling. First scarfing, or scarifying, two rows at a time with a bladed scarifier and one horse, cutting away the shoulders of the rows to leave a width of five inches with the young plants in the centre.
Then the big day, hoes taken down from the couples in the loft, old friends with handles well polished by horny hands over many years, the blades with differing widths from 5 to 7 inches and depths about 3 inches according to personal preference. Edges sharpened, they would be the constant companion for the men for anything up to 6 weeks, day after day in the field. The object was to leave one single small turnip plant every nine inches or so lying away from the hoer to better bulb up in the Autumn. We had to lay the plants flat and I do not think it made a whit of difference, though a long established tradition, and it did look good and regular in the field. The ridge was also cleaned of small weeds as the work proceeded. It was no easy task but long practice made perfect. There would be a long line of singlers following each other in echelon, room for extra workers such as the women on the farm and any casual workers one could get. Small boys and girls too, but we were given a patch on our own as we could not keep up, often just doing the ends. I have seen twenty at a time in the line. Singling went on in the evenings too, other workers doing other jobs but available for evening work and a bit of pocket money. The late Horace Henderson of Scrabster and others organized busloads from Thurso or Wick to come out to the countryside to help. Taken to its ultimate there were hoeing matches held in every parish, usually in the evenings, exquisite workmanship judged and prizes given.
Thinning or singling the neeps was full of incident, who would have thought just a line of men could have such adventures in the middle of a neep field. On a wet day the hoes clagged up with wet earth, getting quite stupidly heavy. One looked for a stone on which to dunt the back of the hoe to knock off the clinging mud, or tapped it on your own steel heel plate on your tackety boots. Or against another worker’s hoe, a mutual help. Extra care was taken on a windy day, the tiny tender plants could be easily uprooted by the wind. Sometimes we turned to hoe the other way so the plants could lie away from the wind. Days of wearing oilskins, days of burning sunshine, days of gale force winds, we had them all.
Today we forget the measurements of our fathers. An acre ( now hectares ) was 270 chains of neeps at 28 inch centre drills. A fair day’s work was 45 chains a man. At Greenland Mains with free and clean ground we did 90 chains, really walking on. In weedy neeps I would not care to hazard even a guess, but it could be mighty slow work. At times the young neeps got ahead of the men, making thinning a laborious and backbreaking job. And at times when some farmer got behind with his thinning other the farm men would go in their own time in the evenings to push them on, a very welcome and sometimes merciful help.
After hoeing the rows would be scuffled, a kind of harrowing, with one horse and a single row scuffler to uproot the weeds, usually more than once. Finally, in Whitehall, just about harvest, perhaps on a damp day when corn cutting was impossible, the rows were water furrowed, a shallow furrow heaping the earth around the turnips, again a single horse would do.
One aspect of singling though, and not to be forgotten. Though the work was hard and the weather could be unhelpful, the constant chatter and banter and backchat and local news and humour was as good as a concert. You can’t talk to a tractor.