Championships brought back memories of a time of hard work and ruddy faces
IT is easy to use and write about an eye-catching photo of horse, plough or furrow. But what of the men, who held the stilts of the plough, who drew the furrows over the land, who corrugated the fields with wonderfully regular lines?
They were fee-ed (hired) as "ploughmen" on the farms but they did so many jobs other than ploughing, which was but a part of their daily darg. Their skills were legion, able to turn a practised hand to anything and everything. We went away once for a three-week holiday to Norway to see our sister, Isobel, and her husband, Tollie Johannessen; the farm clicked away without missing us one bit, maybe better!
As the Scottish Ploughing Championships at Stanstill, Bower, of last October fade into yesterday, and as I watched, mesmerised, the ploughmen and their horses, I thought of the men I knew over all too many years. As I looked at the backs of these men in a photo going away from me, I half closed my eyes and saw again the shades of the past, men who worked with me over these many years, but none the less real for that. Too many, now all gone away.
Their jobs were outdoors in whatever the weather might turn onto them. Oilskins were de rigueur, leggings, long coat, a sou’wester for the head, sometimes an old khaki army greatcoat, a navy one would do, an airforce light blue just showed the dirt up too much. Thick material, capable of standing an immense amount of water, great deep collars which turned up enough to shelter behind, in a way, from the blasts of winter. A thick home-knitted scarf would keep water from running down your neck but a good length of cotton waste would do even better.
There is the old story of the hard Aberdeenshire farmer who came out to the stable one morning in a wet and dreich harvest day to start the men, and said: "Aa ye boys wae oilskins, gae oot tae stook drill [setting up sheaves in the harvest field which had been blown over by the previous night’s wind and rain] and aa ye boys wae-oot oilskins, ye gang oot tae!"
So good outdoor weatherproof clothes were an absolute essential. None of your modern tractors with cabs way up in the sky, decibel rated, air conditioned, sun visored, tint glassed, soundproofed, super heated, sprung seated, satellite navigated, radio, and for all I now know maybe a small TV.
There were so many yesterday, I mention with great respect but a couple but they represent so many others. At Greenland Mains there was Jimmy Coghill, working well into his seventies, long service medal of which he was justly proud. At Lower Dounreay we had Jamie Wares, who came there to the late Jack Davidson as a young man about 1936, stayed on at Lower Dounreay with Peter Oag who bought the farm in 1944 after Jack was killed in Sicily in 1943. He stayed on with me from my start there – November 28, 1953 – then on to Isauld as time passed, also working well into his seventies. And so many, many, others whom I am proud to have known.
So the photos I took of men and horses brought me back long time. It shows the muscular, rounded shoulders of the ploughman, arms reaching forward to the stilts of the plough, bonnet cap set four square, maybe a slight tilt, on his head, no gale would blow that off. Hands firm but easy on the stilts, waterproof pull-on plastic over-trousers somewhat different from our oilskin leggings, rubber rather than tackety boots.
Horse and man walked with measured gait, matching step for matching step, easy and unhurried. A lirk of his shirt showed above the top of his trousers, seen it before. Beside him was his helper holding the reins, not done in normal farm ploughing unless we were breaking in a young horse, but for the ploughing match format allowed. Left the ploughman to better concentrate on his match work.
Stocky, wide muscular shoulders, modern warm quilted jacket. And I was so pleased to see tied below his knees my favourite "Nicky Tams", a bit of humble binder-twine keeping his trouser leg bottoms up out of the mud!
Then coming up the field another face-on photo of our ploughman, seen between the horses heads with Barrock Mains steading showing distantly on the far side of the valley over his right shoulder. Open-necked shirt, eyes concentrated on his work, lean face, strong hands again easy on the stilts. The face of a countryman, clear eyed, weather-beaten rosy cheeks which you cannot get on a tractor seat!
Mark them well, the land has emptied, you will not see the like again.