hurdle is the favourite, and they afford much more shelter to sheep in the fold than the open withy hurdle, but, being more lightly made, they require stakes and "shackles" to keep them in position. The hazel hurdle-maker may be seen in the coppice surrounded by his material and the clean fresh stacks of the work completed. The process of manufacture differs from that of the open-railed hurdle: he has an upright framework fixed to the ground with holes bored at the exact places for the vertical pieces, and indicating the correct length of the hurdle, when finished. The horizontal pieces or rods are comparatively slender and easily twisted, and so can be bent back where they reach the outside uprights, and they are interlaced with the others in basket-making fashion. At this stage the hurdle presents an unfinished appearance, with the ends of the horizontal rods protruding from the face of the hurdle. Then the maker with a special narrow and exceedingly sharp hatchet chops off at one blow each of the projecting ends, with admirable accuracy, never missing his aim or exceeding the exact degree of strength necessary to sever the superfluous bit without injuring the hurdle itself. The hurdle-maker is paid at a price per dozen, and he earns and deserves "good money."

The art of making wattled hurdles is pa.s.sed on and carried down from father to son for generations; the hurdle-maker is usually a cheery man and receives a gracious welcome from the missus and the maids when he calls at the farm-house, often emphasized by a pint of home-brewed.

He combines the accuracy of the draughtsman with the delicate touch of the accomplished lawn-tennis player. His exits and his entrances from and to the scene of his labours are made in the remote mysterious surroundings of the seldom-trodden woods; overhead is the brilliant blue of the clear spring sky; the sunshine lights up the quiet hazel tones of his simple materials, his highly finished work, and his heaps of clean fresh chips; and his stage is the newly cut coppice, carpeted with primroses and wild hyacinths. I have never seen a representation of this charming scene, and I commend the subject to the country-loving artist as full of interest and colour, and as a theme of natural beauty.

Our blacksmith came twice a week to the village when work was still plentiful in the early days of my farming, and I was not yet the only practical farmer in the place. I need not describe the forge: it has been sung by Longfellow, made music of by Handel, and painted by Morland; everybody knows its gleaming red-hot iron, its cascades of sparks, and the melodious clank of the heavy hammer as it falls upon the impressionable metal. In all pursuits which entail the use of an open fire at night, its fascination attracts both busy and idle villagers, and more especially in winter it becomes a centre for local gossip. At that season the time-honoured gossip corner, close to the Manor gate, was deserted for the warmth and action of the forge.

Blacksmiths, like other specialists, vary, and the difference may be expressed as that between the man who fits the shoe to the hoof, and the man who fits the hoof to the shoe--in other words, the workman and the sloven. Doubtless many a slum-housed artisan in the big town, driven from his country home by the flood of unfair foreign compet.i.tion, looks back with longing to the bright old cottage garden of his youth and in his dreams hears the music of the forge, sees the blazing fire, and sniffs the pungency of scorching hoof.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DAIRY--CATTLE--SHEEP--LAMBS--PIGS--POULTRY.

"And brushing ankle-deep in flowers, We heard behind the woodbine veil The milk that bubbled in the pail, And buzzings of the honied hours."

--_In Memoriam_.

My farm had the reputation of being a good cheese farm, but a bad b.u.t.ter farm; in spite, however, of this tradition I determined to establish a pedigree Jersey herd for b.u.t.ter-making. For early in my occupation I had abandoned the cheese manufacture of my predecessor and later the production of unprofitable beef. My wife attended various lectures and demonstrations and was soon able to prove that the bad character of the farm for this purpose was not justified.

Within a few years she covered one wall of the dairy with prize cards won at all the leading shows, and found a ready market for the produce, chiefly by parcel post to friends. The b.u.t.ter, although it commanded rather a better price than ordinary quality, was considered not only by them but by the villagers more economical, as owing to its solidity and freedom from b.u.t.ter milk, it would keep good indefinitely, and "went much further."

The cream from my Jerseys was so thick that the cream crock could be lifted up by the wooden spoon used for stirring, by merely plunging it into the crock full of cream and raising it, without touching the crock in any other way. With fifteen cows and heifers in milk on an average, the Jerseys brought me in quite 300 a year in b.u.t.ter and cream, without considering the value of the calves, and of the skim-milk for the pigs, and they were worth a good deal besides from the aesthetic point of view. I think that the word "dainty" describes the Jersey better than any other adjective; their beautiful lines and colouring in all shades of fawn and silver grey make them a continual delight to behold. After all, however, the shorthorn is a magnificent creature; they, too, have their aesthetic side; the outline is more robust, their colouring more p.r.o.nounced, and I think that "stately" is the best description to apply to their distinguished bearing.

At Worcester, on market days, a great deal of b.u.t.ter is brought in by the country people and retailed in the Market Hall, and many of these farmers' wives and daughters have regular customers, who come each week for their supply. On one occasion when the inspector of weights and measures was making a surprise visit, and testing the weights of the goods on offer, a man, standing near a stall where only one pound of b.u.t.ter was left unsold, noticed that as soon as the owner became aware of the inspector's entrance, she slipped two half-crowns into the pat, obliterating the marks where they had been inserted. She was evidently aware that the b.u.t.ter was not full weight, but with the addition it satisfied the inspector's test, the two half-crowns just balancing the one ounce short. No sooner was he gone than the spectator came forward to buy the b.u.t.ter. She guessed that he had seen the trick, and dared not refuse to sell, although she tried hard to avoid doing so; so the cunning buyer walked off with fifteen ounces of b.u.t.ter worth 1s. 2d., and 5s. in silver for his outlay of 1s. 3d.

In farm-houses where old-fashioned ways of b.u.t.ter-making are still followed, and the thermometer is ignored, it happens sometimes that after some hours' churning the b.u.t.ter does not "come." The traditional remedy is then tried of introducing one or two half-crowns into the churn, partly, I think, as a kind of charm, and partly with the idea of what is called "cutting the curd." The remedy is certainly sometimes successful, probably the coins set up a new movement in the rotating cream, which causes an almost immediate appearance of the b.u.t.ter. On the outside of the framework of the windows in some of these old places, the word "dairy" or "cheese-room" may still be seen, painted or incised. This is a survival from the days of the window tax, and was necessary to claim the exemption which these rooms as places of business enjoyed by law.

My former tutor, the late vicar of Old Basing in Hampshire, decided to keep a cow on his glebe, and consulted the old parish clerk as to the kind of cow he would recommend. The old man was the oracle of the village on all matters secular as well as those connected with his calling. "Well," he said, "what you wants is a nice pretty little cow, not a great big beast as'll stand a-looking and a-staring at you all day long." The vicar followed his advice, avoided the stony regard of an unintelligent animal, and purchased a charming little tender-eyed Brittany, which was quite an ornament to his meadow.

People were very shy of American beef when first imported but, being lower in price than English it was bought by those who were willing to sacrifice quality to cheapness. It was said that the most inferior English was sold under the name of American, the best of the American doing duty for medium quality English. I remember seeing a very ancient and poverty-stricken cow knocked down to a Birmingham dealer, who exclaimed exultingly as the hammer fell, "I'll make 'em some 'Merican biff in Brummagem this week."

The neglected and overgrown hedges, now so often seen on what was formerly good wheat-growing land, have a useful side as shelter when surrounding pasture. In the bitter winds which often occur in May, when the cattle are first turned out after a winter in the yards well littered with clean straw, they can be seen on the southern side protected from the blast. Referring to the May blossom of the white-thorn, an old proverb says, with a faulty rhyme:

"May come early or May come late 'Tis sure to make the old cow quake."

May Day has always been the customary date for turning out cattle to gra.s.s, but people forget that old May Day was nearly a fortnight later, which makes a great difference as to warmth and keep at that time of year.

With changes of dates and times old customs and sayings lose their force. Under the "daylight saving" arrangement we should alter, "Rain before seven, fine before eleven," to "Rain before eight, fine before twelve," which spoils the rhyme. And "Between one and two, you'll see what the day means to do," into, "Between two and three, you'll see what the day means to be."

A few years ago, when _Antony and Cleopatra_ was reproduced at a London theatre by an eminent actor-manager, it was reported that his mind was much exercised over the lines referring to the flight of Pompey's galley:

"The breese upon her, like a cow in June, Hoists sails and flies."

It was suggested that for "cow," the correct reading should be "crow,"

who might very well spread her wings to the breeze and fly. The difficulty was caused by the word "breese" (the gad-fly)--no doubt presumed to be an archaic spelling of "breeze." Shakespeare knew all about farming, as about nearly everything else, and a year on a farm would ill.u.s.trate many of his allusions which the ordinary reader finds somewhat cryptic; anyone who has seen the terrified stampede of cattle with their tails erect when attacked by the gad-fly, will recognize the force of the simile. The gad-fly pierces the skin of the animal, laying its eggs beneath, just as the ichneumon makes use of a caterpillar to provide a host for its progeny. No doubt the operation is a painful one, but the caterpillar may survive, even into its chrysalis stage, and the cow in due time is relieved, after an uncomfortable experience, by the exit of the maggot or fly.

A branch of the Roman road, Ryknield Street, commonly called Buckle Street, leaving the former near Bidford-on-Avon and running over the Cotswolds via Weston Subedge, was known in former times as Buggilde or Buggeld Street, derived possibly from the Latin _buculus_, a young bullock. No doubt vast herds of cattle traversed the road from the vale to the hills, or vice versa, according to the abundance of keep and the time of year. Similar roads in Dorset and Wiltshire are still known as "ox droves," and in the former county, at least, both young heifers and bullocks are known as "bullicks."

Cattle are subject to all manner of disorders which, though puzzling to the owner to diagnose, are not as a rule beyond the skill of a good veterinary surgeon to alleviate; but there are also accidents which are much more annoying, being impossible to foresee. I had occasional losses from the latter causes: once in the night when a cow was thrown on her back into a deep brick manger; and once when a small piece of sacking, part of a decorticated cotton-cake bag, was somehow mixed in with the food, and induced internal inflammation.

It is a difficult matter for a farmer when selling fat cattle direct to the butcher, to compete with him in a correct estimate of the weight, and it is therefore advisable to sell at a price per pound of the dead weight when dressed; this, however, is not always feasible, and a very close estimate can be arrived at by measurement of the girth and length of the live animal, following rules laid down in the handbooks on the subject of fat stock. It is a mistake to suppose that the fattening of stock is a profitable undertaking _per se_. On all arable farms there is a certain amount of food, hay, straw, chaff, roots, etc., which must be consumed on the premises for the sake of keeping up the fertility of the land, but I believe that only under very exceptional circ.u.mstances can a shilling's-worth of food and attendance be converted into a shilling's-worth of meat, so that if in the future the price of corn is to fall back into anything approaching pre-war values, the corn crops, as well as the intermediate green crops, which are only a means for producing corn, must be discontinued, and the land will again become inferior pasture.

Old-fashioned farmers recognized the absence of direct profit in the winter of fattening cattle especially on the produce of arable land, and the saying is well known that, "the man who fattens many bullocks never wants much paper on which to make his will."

There are few pleasanter sights about farm premises than to see, as the short winter day is drawing to an end, and the twilight is stealing around the ricks and buildings, a nicely sheltered yard full of contented cattle deeply bedded down in clean bright wheat straw, and settling themselves comfortably for the night; and, when one pulls the bed-clothes up to one's ears, one can go to sleep thinking happily that they too are enjoying a refreshing sleep. Cattle and sheep can stand severe cold, if they are sheltered from bitter winds and have dry quarters in which to lie; even lambs are none the worse for coming into the world in a snow-covered pasture; and an opened stable window without a draught will often cure a horse of a long-standing chronic cough. It was pitiful in the early days of the war to see the Indian troops with their mountain batteries at Ashurst, near Lyndhurst, in the New Forest, the mules up to their knees and hocks in black mud, owing to the unfortunate selection of an unsound site for the camp.

A "deadly man for ship"--one of those expressions not uncommon in Worcestershire, on the _lucus a non lucendo_ principle--signifies a celebrated sheep breeder; the word "deadly," in this sense, is akin to the Hampshire and Dorset "terrible," or, "turrble," as a term of admiration or the appreciation of excellence; but there are occasions even in the most carefully tended flocks where accidents cannot be antic.i.p.ated. Such an event occurred to a Cotswold ram, which after washing was placed in an orchard near my house to dry before shearing.

The ram had an immense fleece on him, nineteen pounds as it afterwards proved, and the wool round the neck was somewhat ragged. As he lay asleep with his head turned round and muzzle pointing backwards, some little movement caused his head to become entangled in the loose wool, and he was found hanged in his own fleece.

I was watching, with my bailiff, a splendid lot of lambs fat and ready for the butcher; two of them were having a game--walking backwards from each other, and suddenly rushing together like two knights in a medieval tournament, their heads meeting with a concussion and a resounding smack--when one instantly fell to the ground with a broken neck. Had no one been present the meat would have been worthless, but my man was equal to the occasion, and, borrowing my pocket knife, produced the flow of blood necessary to render the meat fit for human food. My villagers had a feast that week, and my own table was graced by an excellent joint of real English lamb. Of course we never attempted to consume any of the meat from animals which had been killed when suffering from a doubtful complaint, though some people are by no means particular in this matter.

A doctor told me that when attending a case at a farmhouse he was invited to join the family at their midday meal, and was surprised to see a nice fore-quarter of lamb on the table. His host gave him an ample helping, and he had just made a beginning with it and the mint sauce, green peas, and new potatoes, when the founder of the feast announced by way of excusing the indulgence in such a luxury: "This un, you know was a bit casualty, so we thought it better to make sure of un." My informant told me that then and there his appet.i.te completely failed, and, to the dismay of his host he had to relinquish his knife and fork.

It is always policy to kill a sheep to save its life, as the saying is, and the way to make the most of it is to send any fat animal, which is off its feed and looking somewhat thoughtful, to the butcher at once. He knows quite well whether the sheep is fit for food, and if he decides against it, all one expects is the value of the skin. But people are very shy of buying meat about which they have any misgiving, and my butcher once told me not to send him an "emergency sheep" _in one of my own carts_, but to ask him to fetch it himself: "It's like this," he explained, "when a customer comes in for a nice joint of mutton, if he is a near neighbour, he will perhaps add, 'I would rather not have a bit of the sheep that came in a day or two ago in one of Mr. S.'s carts'!"

It was always cheering in February, "fill d.y.k.e, be it black or be it white," on a dark morning, to hear the young lambs and their mothers calling to each other in the orchards, where there is some gra.s.s all the year round under the shelter of the apple trees; or when a springlike morning appears, about the time of St. Valentine's Day, and the thrushes are singing love-songs to their mates, and the first brimstone b.u.t.terfly has dared to leave his winter seclusion for the fickle sunshine, to realize that Spring is coming, and the active work of the farm is about to recommence. There is a superst.i.tion that when the master sees the firstling of the flock, if its head is turned towards him, good luck for the year will follow, but it is most unlucky if its head is turned away.

After the disastrous wet season of 1879 immense losses ensued from the prevalence of the fatal liver rot; many thousands of sheep were sold at the auctions for 3s. or 4s. apiece, and sound mutton was exceedingly scarce and dear. It was represented to a very August personage, that if the people could be induced to forgo the consumption of lamb, these in due course would grow into sheep, and the price of mutton would be reduced. Accordingly an order was issued forbidding the appearance of lamb on the Court tables. It had not occurred to the proposer of this scheme that a scarcity of food for the developing lambs would result, nor was it understood that the producers of fat lambs make special cropping arrangements for their keep, with the object of clearing out their stock about Easter, in time to plough the ground, and follow the roots where the ewes and lambs have been feeding, with barley. The "cla.s.ses" copied the example of the Court, as in duty bound, and the demand fell to zero. But the lambs had to be sold for the reasons mentioned, and, in the absence of the usual demand, the unfortunate producers offered them at almost any price. The miners and the pottery workers in Staffordshire were not so loyal as the "cla.s.ses"; they welcomed the unusual opportunity of buying early lamb at 9d. a pound, and trains composed entirely of trucks full of lambs from the south of England to the Midlands supplied them abundantly.

The edict, when its effect was apparent, was therefore revoked, but it was too late, the lambs were gone, and as everybody was hungry for his usual Easter lamb, the demand was immense, and the price rose in proportion. I had thirty or forty lambs intended for the Easter markets, and had, with great difficulty and the sacrifice of gra.s.s which should have stood for hay, managed to keep them on, scarcely knowing what to do with them. But the sudden demand arose just in time, and I sent them to the Alcester auction sale, where buyers from Birmingham and the neighbourhood attend in large numbers. A capital sale resulted, the price going as high as 60s., in those days a big figure for lambs about four months old. I was so pleased with the result and my deliverance from the dilemma, that, pa.s.sing through the town on my way home, and spying an old Worcester china cup and saucer, and a bowl o the same, all with the rare square mark, I invested some of my plunder in what time has proved an excellent speculation, and my cabinet is still decorated with these mementoes, which I never see without calling to mind the story of the lamb edict and its result.

During the Great War some controlling wiseacre evolved precisely the same scheme for bringing about an imaginary increase in the supply of mutton, by prohibiting the slaughter of any lambs until June. The Dorset breeders, who buy in ewes at high prices for the special production of early lamb--the lambs of this breed are born in October and November--were more particularly affected, and the absurdity of the prohibition having been later represented to the authorities, the order was withdrawn, though not before great loss and difficulty were inflicted upon the unfortunate producers. It goes to prove the necessity of the administration of such matters by competent men, and how easily apparently sound theory in inexperienced hands may conflict with economical practice.

Of late years the compet.i.tion of the importations of New Zealand lamb has reduced the price of English lamb to an unremunerative level. This thin dry stuff bears about the same resemblance to real fat home-grown lamb, as do the proverbial chalk and cheese to each other; but it is good enough for the restaurants and eating-houses; and the consumer who lacks the critical faculty of the connoisseur in such matters, devours his "Canterbury" lamb, well disguised with mint sauce, in sublime ignorance, and, apparently, without missing the succulence of the real article--convinced as he is that it was produced in the neighbourhood of the cathedral city of the same name, and unaware of the existence of such a place as Canterbury in New Zealand, or that the name, if not exactly a fraud, is calculated to mislead. Doubtless it is the mint sauce that satisfies the uncritical palate. Just as the boy who, when asked after a treat of oysters how he liked them, said with gusto, "The oysters was good, but the vinegar and pepper was _de_licious!"

It is well known that there is a tendency among men in charge of special kinds of domestic animals gradually to approximate to them in appearance, and we are told that men sometimes gradually acquire a resemblance to men they admire. I knew a pedigree-pig herdsman, very successful in the show-ring, who was curiously like his charges, and I had at least two shepherds whose profiles were extraordinarily sheepish--though not in the ordinary acceptation of the term. Such an appearance confers a singularly simple expression. It must have been a man whose character justified such a facial peculiarity, who, having to bring the flock of one of my neighbours over a railway crossing between two of his fields, neglected to open the further gate first, drove the sheep on to the rails, and proceeded to do so, only to find the sheep, in the meantime, had wandered down the line. Before he could collect them a train dashed into them, and many were killed and others injured. The railway company not only repudiated all liability, but sent in a counterclaim for damage to their engine!

But the tables were turned morally, if not actually, by a friend of mine, who certainly scored off a railway company. My friend's waggon, with two horses and a load of hay, was pa.s.sing over a level crossing on his land, when the London express came into view slinging downhill in all the majesty of triumphant speed, but far enough away to be brought up in time, ignominiously and abruptly. The railway company wrote my friend a letter of remonstrance suggestive of pains and penalties, and telling him that his waggoner should have made sure of the safety of crossing before attempting it--not an easy thing to do at this particular place. My friend replied that his right of way existed centuries before the railway was dreamed of, that the crossing was a concession for the company's convenience, it had saved the expense of a bridge, and that his hay was an urgent matter in view of the weather; and that uninterrupted harvesting was of more importance than the punctuality of their pa.s.sengers.

I have sometimes pa.s.sed through a remote village on a Sunday where the obsequies of a pig were to be seen in full view from the road; these were usually places where the church was in an adjoining mother-parish, and of course there are times when, for reasons of health or perhaps more correctly ill-health, it is impossible to defer the ceremony. As a rule, I should imagine that greater privacy is sought, at any rate so far as the public point of view is concerned.

One remembers the story of the man doing some Sunday carpentering; his wife expostulated with him as a Sabbath breaker; he replied that in driving in the nails he could not help making some noise; "then why,"

said she, "don't you use screws?"

An old Dorset labourer who helped with the removal of the pig-wash, and did other small jobs for successive tenants of mine at a furnished cottage on my land in Hampshire, invariably estimated the social status and resources of each new tenant by the consistency of the wash. When some rather extravagant occupiers were in possession, he reported them as, "Quite the right sort; their wash is real good, thick stuff." The villagers at Aldington did not smoke their bacon, but, as it usually hung in the kitchen not far from the big open hearth, and as the place was often full of fragrant wood smoke, the bacon acquired a pleasant suggestion of the smoked article of the southern counties. The cottagers rarely complained of the smoky state of their kitchens, consoling themselves with the saying, "'Tis better to be smoke-dried nor starred [starved with the cold] to death." Bacon naturally suggests eggs; many of the villagers kept a few fowls which sometimes strayed into my orchards; as a rule, I made no objection, but it was not pleasing, when the apples were over-ripe and dropping from the trees, to notice the destructive marks of their beaks on some extra fine Blenheim oranges.

My wife determined to take over our fowls into her own jurisdiction; hitherto they had been under my bailiff's care, and he rather resented the change as an implication on his management, until it was explained that she was anxious to undertake the poultry as a hobby. One of the carter boys was detailed to collect the eggs, as some of the hen-houses were in out-of-the-way corners of the yards and difficult to approach. My wife thought the middleman was appropriating most of the profit; she was determined to get as directly to the consumer as possible and, among others, she arranged with the head of a large school for a weekly supply of dairy and poultry produce. All went well for a time until one day the boy, anxious to produce as many eggs as possible, as he received a royalty per dozen for collecting, discovered some nests which my man had set for hatching before he retired from the post. The boy, not recognizing this important fact, came in greatly pleased with an unusually large quant.i.ty, and it so happened that the school received the eggs from this special lot. Next morning forty eggs appeared at the boys' breakfast table, and forty boys simultaneously suffered a terrible shock on the discovery of forty incomplete chickens. The head wrote an aggrieved letter of complaint, and though my wife was by that time able to explain the matter, and regret her own loss too of forty chickens, he removed his custom to a more reliable source.

This schoolmaster was a collector of antique furniture and china, and, knowing that I was interested, he asked me to come and see some Chippendale chairs he had just acquired. It happened that some months before I had declined to buy four or five chairs that were offered at 10s. apiece. I had not then fully developed the taste for the antique, which once acquired forbids the connoisseur to refuse anything good, whether really wanted or not, and at that time there was much more choice in such matters than at the present day. The chairs were very dilapidated and I did not recognize their possibilities, but I noticed the arms of the elbow chairs were particularly good, being carved at the junction of the horizontal and vertical pieces with eagles' heads.

Deciding that I did not want them I sent a dealer to the house and forgot all about the matter. The schoolmaster took me into his drawing-room, and I instantly recognized the set I had refused; they were quite transformed, nicely cleaned, lightly polished, and the seats newly covered. I duly admired them, and on inquiry found that he had purchased them in Worcester from the dealer I had sent to look at them; they cost him 5 each, and I suppose at the present time they would be worth 20 apiece at least.

I have previously mentioned old Viper as a family friend, but like all dogs he had his faults. He acquired a liking for new laid eggs and hunted the rickyard for nests in the straw. My bailiff determined to cure him; he carefully blew an egg, and filled it with a mixture of which mustard was the chief component. Viper was tempted to sample the egg, which he accepted with a great show of innocence; the effect when he had broken the sh.e.l.l was electrical; he fled with downcast tail and complete dejection, and nothing would ever induce him to touch an egg again.

The whirligig of time has indeed brought its revenge in the matter of the market value of eggs. In Worcestershire we have had to give them away at eighteen or twenty for a shilling; last (1918-1919) winter we sold some at 7s. a dozen, and many more at 5s.

CHAPTER XIV.