No 26..The Long Loft Again.

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 farm lofts were not used just for grain storage, they had so many other uses. They were usually the most free of draughts of all the buildings, a clean working area with a good wooden floor though usually the coldest with no cattle to warm them in winter, though the Long Loft at Whitehall had the yearlings byre below.
Loft tasks were many, the first that comes to mind was making and repairing the stack-nets. Each man made for himself a net needle out of a suitable piece of smooth hardwood, sometimes a piece of good driftwood found on the shore. Difficult to describe a stack net needle in detail but a Stroma man could tell you, or show you one inherited from his father. The stack net needles were a larger version of the needles used by fishermen (Stroma men again) to repair or make their creels or repair their herring nets, whittled down by the farm worker with a knife and soft smoothed with sandpaper and long use, a treasured work of art. On to it the sisal stack-net twine was wound, over and under from either side in turns onto the central peg till full The needle released just so much twine when needed by a flick and a half turn of the wrist, and, if let go or if it fell by accident, it did not unravel. It all fitted nicely into a man’s hand.
Stretch the stack-net along the wall, hang it from the rafters on nails or loops at head height, look for breaks, stitch the torn hole together with a simple over and under but holding knot, a reef knot for a broken cord, a sheet bend like a figure 8 for a loop, the usual knot for making a new net, which took me quite a while to learn but simple enough when mastered. The net could be spread on the floor but suspending it was preferred, easier on the back. Tears in nets were common enough, especially as they got ripe and tender with age. Each year the nets were steeped in tan bark preservative or creosote, but an outdoor life holding down corn or hay stacks all winter told its own tale. On the stacks rats could and did cut the nets, inedible maybe but keeping their teeth in trim. Sods. Or a gale could at times do much damage.
Making new stack nets was another task when time allowed. A long master board hung from the rafters, clear of the walls. On to it the first loops of twine for the new net would be cast, the farm women would tell you it was just like knitting but bigger loops. Much bigger. The square mesh was about 12 inches, and I do remember that the sizes were in odd multiples of 15, 17, 19, 21 squares, and so on. There had to be a reason for the odd numbers but I know it not. The mesh was kept to the correct size by a thin wooden rail or rod hung on a loop of wire from either end, reset for the next row. A skilled man could make a net quite rapidly, though they could be bought ready made. Saved a bit of money if home made, and gave the men an indoor job for any spare time, especially on a rough day. The new and the repaired nets were individually wound up, a neat tight bundle three feet long, and stored hanging from the rafters out of varmints reach.
Rope making in the Long Loft was another rough day job. Two moveable wooden rope-making frames with hooks and gears and winding handles, one each end of the loft, or at whatever distance needed according to the lengths of rope required. Three hooks triangulated on the master winder driven by small pinions from one big pinion, all turning together at the same matched speed, and three fixed hooks on the slave winder at the other end which would be anchored to the floor. The master was free standing with two small jockey wheels on the front corners. It sledged slowly along as the ropes were wound and the twine tightened in the making, the man doing the winding standing on it. Binder twine was run from one end to the other, back and fore, back and fore, three separate bundles, the ball of twine carried from end to end, the twine running out from the centre of the ball, and as many strands as needed according to whether making thin rein ropes or heavier cart ropes or ropes for cattle halter making. The initial winding made three separate thin ropes, then the three slim new ropes were put onto one hook on the master winder and the rope was ready for the final stage. For this the handle was turned in the opposite direction to the initial winding by one man, his partner having a polished wooden shoe with three smooth round grooves triangulated into which the three thinner ropes fitted. By winding in the opposite direction against the initial twist and allowing just so much to slowly run through the shoe by moving it along, a three ply rope emerged, the opposing twist holding it together. The speed at which the shoe was moved along determined the tightness. Quite long lengths could be made, coiled up neatly and stored in the rat proof wire cage in the girnel loft. There was a rule of thumb for making some of these ropes, a cart rope just so long, reins another length, and the winding frames could be set out at the right distance marked on the floor to end with the correct length of rope. Neat work. And there was always in the loft when rope making the fresh, clean, rather pleasant smell of new sisal twine. Farm made ropes were of high quality and stood comparison with bought-in rope any day.
A relic of that rope-making still exists in Castletown with the Ropewalk from the centre of the Village to the right of the road down to Castlehill Harbour, a double hedge hiding it a bit. Ropes were made there for ships sailing out of Castlehill Harbour with flagstones exported around the World. That ropewalk was operated by James Tait, one of whose cousins, also James Tait, was a Master ropemaker in Wick, and another cousin, David Tait, was a Master sail maker there.
The A-frame rafters of the loft had crosspieces we called couple backs - good storage for many things. Paramount were the canvases for the binders. Thoroughly washed after corn cutting harvest by steeping them in the horse trough or the pond, then set out to dry hanging over a stone dyke. Before storing until next harvest they were all gone over on the loft floor, any tears or worn bits seen to, the leading edges replaced with a strip of new canvas where worn, torn or just ripe with age, buckles and straps replaced, new wooden laths replacing broken ones. The running repairs of harvest, often done in haste just to keep the binders going, were tidied up or redone properly. These running repairs were constant through most harvests anyway. One year only do I remember otherwise. In the wonderful summer of 1955, our last while we lived in Lower Dounreay Farmhouse before moving to Isauld, we took our wonderful International 7ft power drive binder out of the shed on Monday morning, cut everything by Friday evening, never changed a canvas, nor a knife blade, nor threw a single loose sheaf, and the binder went back into the shed on Saturday morning cleaned, oiled and ready for next year. Cut round and round every field, finished cutting before the end of August, and never ever did the like again!! Never!
The couple backs were storage for hoes, sharpened and oiled. Scythes were kept there safely out of reach, binder knives well oiled, any broken or damaged blades repaired, a slotted safety board covering the sharp blades. Bits and planks of good new wood lay handy on the couple backs, and everyone knew where to find a bit when needed. There would be old binder canvasses from long gone binders, waiting for their own Resurrection perhaps. They were not in anyones way, so they stayed there covered in dust and out of sight until forgotten, or at least until the farm roup our father held on finally leaving Whitehall in November,1944.
It was amazing what else could be stored there, and after our 25 years in Whitehall the rafters of the Long Loft were an Alladins Cave. I should know, I was there. I set off from Greenland Mains on my own to walk to Thurso to catch the St Ola, was picked up by car at West Greenland road end by Dan Gunn who was luckily going to Thurso anyway. He took me down to Scrabster, I caught the St Ola, stayed the night with Charlie Tait in Kirkwall at Buttquoy, caught the Earl Sigurd very early next morning, and the two hour voyage out to Stronsay, a special trip laid on by father for the sale. And at the sale out of that loft door, and sold by the auctioneer from the top of the stone stairs, came an endless succession of odds and ends. Pride of place went to an ancient harpoon and a flensing knife, relics of the days when Stronsay caaed whales onto the sandy beach at Mill Bay. They gave the auctioneer his cue for some serious laughter.
Anyone who has been to a farm roup will recognize the “Loft Door”, usually at the top of the stone stairs, and wonder where all the odds and ends come from, stare in disbelief at some bits, at times ask in amazement what some article is, put in a small bid for something he does not really want just to be mentioned in the roup roll, and how long will it be till we reach the real objective of sailing all the way out from Kirkwall, the implements, the horses, the cattle, the sheep and the pigs. Or was it just a rather nice way for my father’s farming friends from all over Orkney to bid him, on leaving his native shores for Caithness, a good and memorable fare-thee-well.