Hard-and-fast laws and fixed prices for agricultural labour will be found very difficult to maintain as to piecework; no wage board can fix just prices, because conditions are so variable. Of two men cutting corn on separate plots in the same field, the one at 12s. an acre may really earn more money _per diem_ than another man at 15s. an acre on the other side of the field, owing to the difference in the weight of the crop or its condition, it being, perhaps, erect in the first case, and laid by heavy storms in the second.

There is, too, a vast difference in the value of boys' work and usefulness; one may easily be worth double another, yet no difference is allowable by the new law; or one may demoralize another, so that two are less effective than one. A good old saying puts the matter very plainly: "One boy's a boy, two boys are half a boy, and three boys are no boy at all!"

It is, in fact, ridiculous for townspeople, lawyers, and manufacturers to legislate for the labour of the farm; they do not understand that indoor labour in the workshop or factory, under regular conditions and with unvarying materials, is totally different from labour out of doors, in constantly changing conditions of season, weather, and the resulting crops dealt with. An old maxim of the Worcestershire labourer who, without a fixed place, took on piece-work at specially busy times, will confirm this: "Go to a good farmer for wheat-hoeing, and to a bad one for harvesting." I may explain that the fields of the good farmer are clean and nearly free from weeds, so that hoeing is a comparatively light job; but the same, or nearly the same, price per acre is paid by the bad farmer, whose corn is overrun with weeds, entailing much more time and harder work. On the other hand, the good farmer's wheat crop is much heavier than that of the bad, and, the prices for cutting being again very similar, more money _per diem_ can be earned at harvest on the farm of the latter.

It is a sound old Worcestershire saying that "the time to hoe is when there are no weeds"--apparently a paradox, but the meaning is simple: when no weeds are to be seen above ground there are always millions of tiny seedlings just below the surface ready to increase and multiply wonderfully with a shower of rain; if attacked at the seedling stage, these can be slaughtered in battalions, with far greater ease and efficacy than when they become deep-rooted and established, and dominate the crop.

I have heard of farmers to whom pay-night was a sore trial; one such was frequently known to mount his horse and gallop away just before his men appeared: how he settled eventually I do not know. Some farmers will pay out of doors on their rounds, having a rooted objection to business of any kind under a roof; and one small farmer, I was told, always pa.s.sed the cash to his men behind his back so that he might not have the agony of parting actually before his eyes.

A labourer is supposed to come to work in his master's time and go home in his own, thus sharing the necessary loss, and, as a rule, they are fairly punctual; but one defaulter in this particular will waste many moments of a whole gang working together, as it seems to be etiquette not to begin till they are all present. I have often heard, too, sarcastic comparisons made between the day-man and "the any-time-of-day man."

The cottagers have their feuds, and the use of joint wash-houses or baking-ovens between two or more adjoining cottages is a frequent source. I have had excited wives of tenants coming to me at unseasonable hours to settle these differences, and I found it a very difficult business to reconcile the disputants. I could only visit the _locus in quo_ and arrange fixed and separate days and regulations; but though the wisdom of Solomon may administer justice in a dispute, it is impossible to ensure a really peaceful solution that will endure.

Sometimes feuds, originating in such or similar causes, were maintained for years by neighbours living with only a 9-inch party wall between them, and daily meetings outside, to the extent of not even "pa.s.sing the time of day." At last, however, in a day of distress to one, the heart of the unafflicted other would melt, and after an offer of help, or actual a.s.sistance, kind relations would be once more established. Or a peace offering, in the shape of a dish of good pig-meat, sent over with a kind message, would restore more genial conditions, and they would return to happy and neighbourly familiarity.

I once employed an old Dorset labourer, a tall, slim, aristocratic figure, with an elegant, refined nose to match; he bore the well-known name of an ancient and distinguished Dorset family, and I have no doubt was well descended. He was decidedly a canny, not to say crafty, man. I gave him a holiday at Whitsuntide to visit his old home, but he overran the time agreed upon and returned some days late. Before I could begin the rebuke I proposed to administer, he produced a charming photograph of a ruined abbey near his old locality, and handed it to me as a present. "I thought upon you, master, while I was away, and knowing as you was fond of ancient things I've brought you this picture." I was completely disarmed, and the rebuke had to be postponed _sine die_.

As I was talking one day to my bailiff--one of the men who lived a mile away standing near--he said: "Tom, here, is always the first man to arrive in the morning; I have never known him to be late." I congratulated Tom, and asked what time he went to bed: "Oh, about seven o'clock!" He was, in fact, a lonely old bachelor, and, being "no scholard," it saved lights and firing to be early to bed.

This man, like many villagers, had very vague ideas of geography. To save the trouble of cooking, he lived largely on American tinned beef, and got chaffed about it by his fellow-workers. "How be you getting on with the 'Merican biff?" Tom was asked. "Oh," said he, "never no more 'Merican biff for me." "How's that, Tom?" "Why, the other day I found a trouser-b.u.t.ton in it!" The point of this story lies in the fact that the Russo-Turkish war was proceeding at the time. _Tempora mutantur_, we were then encouraging Turkey against Russia, though the latter had declared war to avenge the atrocities in Bulgaria of which the Turks were guilty, while in the recent struggle the position was almost exactly reversed.

There was then a violent militant feeling here in Britain, and excited crowds were singing:

"We don't want to fight but, by Jingo, if we do, We've got the ships, we've got the men, We've got the money too."

Hence the expression "Jingoism," which we often hear to-day, though, perhaps, the origin is now almost forgotten.

It is not unusual to see villagers, as married couples, complete contrasts to each other in appearance and character--one fat and jolly, the other thin and miserable; one happy and contented, the other grumbling and morose; one open-hearted and generous, the other close and parsimonious. In matrimony people are said to choose their opposites, and possibly, as time goes on, the difference in their appearance and dispositions becomes still more definitely developed.

The labourer understands sarcasm and makes use of it himself, but irony is often lost upon him. Pa.s.sing an old man on a pouring wet day, I greeted him, adding, "Nice morning, isn't it?" He stared, hesitated, and then, "Well, it would be if it wasn't for the rain!" I only remember one surly man--not one of my workers or tenants. He was sc.r.a.ping a very muddy road, and I remarked, for something to say, "Makes it look better, doesn't it?" All I got in reply was, "I shouldn't do it if it didn't!"

It is important, in managing a mixed lot of farm labourers, to find out each man's special gift, making him the responsible person when the time or opportunity arrives for its application. There are men, excellent with horses, who have no love of steam-driven machinery, and _vice versa_; and there are men who are capable at small details, yet unable to take comprehensive views.

Responsibility is the life-blood of efficiency, and men can always be found upon whom responsibility will act like a charm, producing quickened perception, interest, foresight, economy, resource, industry, and all the characteristics that responsibility demands. Put the square peg in the square hole, the round peg in the round hole; show the man you have confidence in him, teach him to act on his own initiative in all the lesser matters that concern his job, coming only to the master in those larger considerations to which the latter are subordinate, and my experience is that your confidence will not be betrayed, and that he will save you an immense amount of tiresome detail.

The most difficult man to deal with is the over-confident "know-all"; he is always ready to oppose experience--often dearly bought--with his superior knowledge, he can suggest a quicker or a cheaper way of doing everything, and in his last place he "never saw" your system followed.

He is the penny-wise and pound-foolish individual, and his methods are "near enough." It has been said that at twenty a man knows everything, at forty he is not quite so sure, and at sixty he is certain that he knows nothing at all; but there are exceptions even to this rule, who continue all their lives thinking more and more of their own opinions, and completely satisfied with their own methods. On the other hand, the master will always find, among the more experienced, men from whom much is to be learnt; they are generally diffident and not too ready to hazard an opinion, but when consulted they can give very valuable help. I willingly acknowledge my indebtedness to my old hands, their well-founded convictions that were the fruit of long years of practical experience, and their readiness to impart them in times of doubt and difficulty.

Just as bad-tempered grooms make nervous, bad-tempered horses; rough and noisy cattle-men, fidgety cows; ill-trained dogs and savage shepherds, sheep wild and difficult to approach; so does the bad-tempered, impatient, or slovenly master make men with the same bad qualities, when a smile or a kind word will bring out all that is good in a man and produce the best results in his work.

I began my farming with four dear old women, working on the land, when wanted for light jobs; the youngest must have been fifty at least.

They received the time-honoured wage of tenpence a day, and worked, or talked, about eight hours. They loved to work near the main road, discussing the natural history of the occupants of pa.s.sing carts or carriages. They knew something comic, tragic, or compromising about everybody, and expressed themselves with epigrammatic force. A farmer occupant of a neighbouring farm in long-past days, was a favourite subject of such recollections. After relating how "he were a random duke," and recalling his habits, one old lady would conclude the recital with an account of his last days, adding, as if everything was thereby finally condoned:

"But there, 'e was just as nice a carpse as ever I see, and I was a'most minded to put his paddle [thistle-spud] beside him in his coffin, for he was always a-diggin' and a-delvin'

about with it."

One member of this quartet, when ill, had a dish of minced mutton sent her in the hopes of tempting her appet.i.te. She eyed the gift with disfavour, and announced with scorn that "she preferred to chew her meat herself!"

In due course these old ladies retired from active service and younger women took their places; women were especially necessary in the hop-yards for the important operation of tying the selected bines to the poles with rushes and pulling out those which were superfluous. It was difficult, at first, to accustom them to the fact that the hop always twines the way of the sun, whilst the kidney bean takes the opposite course. And there was a problem which greatly exercised their minds: How were they to reach the hops at the tops of the poles--14 feet from the ground--when the time came? It did not occur to them that it was possible to cut the bine and pull up the pole. They soon became very quick and expert at the tying, and their well-worn wedding-rings, telling of a busy life, would flash brightly in the sunshine as they tenderly coaxed the brittle bines round the base of the poles, securing them with the rush tied in a special slip-knot, so that it easily expanded as the bine enlarged.

Women are splendid at all kinds of light farm work whenever deftness and gentle touch are required, such as hop-tying and picking, or gathering small fruit like currants, raspberries, and strawberries; but I do not consider them in the least capable of taking the place of men in outdoor work which demands muscular strength and endurance and the ability to withstand severe heat or bitter cold or wet ground under foot, through all the varying seasons. Village women have, too, their home duties to attend to, and it is most important that their men-folk should be suitably fed and their houses kept clean and attractive.

On the farm of my son-in-law, in Warwickshire, I have seen something of the work of land girls, to the number of seventy or more, for whom he provided a well-organized camp with a competent lady Captain; and I know how useful they proved in the emergency caused by the War, but I still adhere to my former conclusion as to the more strenuous forms of farm labour, without in the least detracting from my admiration for the courage and patriotism that brought them forward.

I know one woman, however, who quite successfully undertakes very strenuous garden work, including digging, having been inured to it at a very early age. If she could be spared from her own work to take the position of instructress for young girls determined to make the land their chief employment, they would be saved a vast amount of unnecessary fatigue and labour by learning the art of using spades, forks, hoes, and rakes in the way that experience teaches, relying more upon the weight and designed capabilities of the tool to do the work than upon their own untrained muscles.

We could always get a supply of excellent maids for house-work from among the village families; they began very young, coming in for a few hours daily to help the regular staff, and, as these left or got married, they were ready trained to take their places. These girls were quite free from the self-importance of the present-day domestic, but I remember one nice village girl about whom we inquired as a likely maid who, it then appeared, was engaged to marry a thriving small tradesman. The girl's mother, being over-elated at her daughter's apparently brilliant prospects of independence, rejected the proposal with some hauteur, adding that her daughter "would soon be keeping her own maid." I fear, however, that she was disappointed, as the course of true love did not run smooth.

We preferred a married man as shepherd, because, when I had only a few cows, he combined his duties with those of cowman; and, bringing in the milk and doing the churning, he was much about the back premises.

On one occasion, however, I engaged a young bachelor, partly because he replied, with a knowing smile, to a question as to whether he was married, that he dared say he could be if he liked--which I optimistically took to amount to an announcement of his engagement.

Time went on and he remained a single man, but it was observable that he lingered on his milky way, and was more in evidence in the dairy than his duties appeared to warrant. We concluded that he was attracted by the cook. One day my wife said to another maid: "I can't think why the shepherd spends so much time in the house. I suppose cook is the attraction?" The girl blushed, hesitated, and looked down, but finally courageously murmured: "Please, mum, it's me, mum!" They were married in due course, and we lost an excellent servant.

Some of the village women and girls filled up spare moments with "gloving"; the large kid-glove manufacturers in Worcester supplied the material, cut into shape, and a stand, with a kind of vice divided into s.p.a.ces the exact size of each st.i.tch, which held the work firmly while the st.i.tching was done by hand; they grew very quick at this work, and turned out the gloves with beautifully even st.i.tches, but I don't think they could earn much at it in a day, and it must have been rather monotonous.

I was interested to read in Mr. Warde Fowler's _Kingham Old and New_ an account of a peculiar ceremony--called "Skimmington," by Mr. Hardy, in his _Mayor of Casterbridge_--which took place in Kingham village. I have known of two similar cases, one in Surrey and one at Aldington, under the name of "rough music." The Kingham case was quite parallel with that at Aldington, being a demonstration of popular disapproval of the conduct of a woman resident, in matters arising out of matrimonial differences.

The outraged neighbours collect near the dwelling of the delinquent, having provided themselves with old trays, pots and pans, and anything by means of which a horrible din can be raised, and proceed to serenade the offender. To be the subject of such a demonstration is regarded as a signal disgrace and a most emphatic mark of popular odium. Mr. Warde Fowler tells me, on the authority of a German book on marriage, etc., that "the same sort of din is made at marriage in some parts of Europe to drive evil spirits away from the newly married pair." Possibly, therefore, the custom among our own villagers may have originated with the same idea, and they may formerly have taken the charitable view that evil spirits were responsible for evil deeds, and that their exorcism was a neighbourly duty.

The holiday outings I gave my men were a _quid pro quo_ for some hours of overtime in the hay-making, and included a day's wages, all expenses, and a supply of food. They generally went to a large town where an agricultural show was in progress, but I think the sea trips to Ilfracombe and Weston-super-Mare were the most popular, offering as they did much greater novelty. I have a vivid recollection of the preparation of the rations on the previous night: a vast joint of beef nicely roasted and got cold before operations commenced, my wife and daughter making the sandwiches, while I cut up the beef in the kitchen, sometimes in my shirt-sleeves on a hot summer night; mountains of loaves of bread, great slices of cake, and pounds of cheese, completed the provisions. The rations were wrapped in separate papers and placed in a hipbath, covered with a cloth, and finally kept in a cool building, whence each man took his portion at early dawn.

For the sea trips the train took the party to Gloucester and Sharpness, where they embarked upon the steamer.

Many and thrilling were the tales I heard next day; the sea was fairly smooth until they reached the Bristol Channel, but then, if they met a south-west wind, the vessel began to roll, and jovial faces looked thoughtful. I must not dwell upon the delightful horrors of the voyage on such occasions; they were accepted with good-humour and regarded as part of the show, but it was curious that not one of the narrators himself suffered the fate that he so graphically described as the portion of the others. Arrived at their destination, they inspected the town, watched the people on the piers and parades, and the children playing on the sands. The latter created the greatest interest, busy with their spades and buckets, or, as one man expressed it, "little jobs o' draining and summat!"

At Christmas the village children always came in small gangs to sing, or rather chant, a peculiar and very ancient seasonable greeting:

"I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, A pocket full of money and a cellar full of beer, A good fat pig to last you all the year.

May G.o.d bless all friends near!

A merry, merry Christmas and a happy New Year."

CHAPTER VII.

MACHINERY--VILLAGE POLITICS--ASPARAGUS.

"Last week came one to the county town To preach our poor little army down."

--_Maud_.

Though machinery has lightened the labour of manual workers to some extent, it entails much more trouble upon masters and foremen, for breakages are frequent and always occur at the busiest time. What with mowers, reapers, thrashing machines, chaff-cutters, root-pulpers, and grain-mills run by steam-power or in connection with horse-gears; hop-washers, separators, and other delicately adjusted novelties, the master must of necessity be something of a mechanic himself. I doubt if machinery is really quite the advantage claimed by theorists and reconstructionists at the present day. Even the thrashing machine, universally adopted, presents disadvantages in comparison with the ancient flail, generally regarded as obsolete, though still to be found in occasional use by the smallholder or allotment occupier. In former times the farmer reserved his thrashing by hand, for the most part, for winter work during severe frost or wet weather, when nothing could be done outside. The immense barns, which still exist, were filled almost to the roof at harvest; thatching was not necessary, and every sheaf was absolutely safe from rain as soon as it was under cover. Continuous winter work was provided for the men, and a daily supply of fresh straw for chaff-cutting and bedding, besides fresh chaff and rowens or cavings for stock throughout the winter. With the thrashing machine in use for ricks, thatching is a necessity, and is often difficult to arrange in the stress of harvest; the machine and engine demand a day's work for two teams of horses to fetch them, and the cartage and expense of much coal, now so dear. On a small farm extra hands have to be engaged, the straw has to be stacked or carried to the barns, and the same applies to the chaff and rowens. If the weather is damp, straw, chaff, and rowens get stale, mouldy, and unpalatable to the stock, a heavy charge is made for the hire of the machine and the machine men, and the latter require food and drink or payment instead. The machine breaks and bruises many grains of corn, which are thereby damaged for seed or malting, whereas the less urgent flail leaves them intact.

The sound of the thrashing machine gives an impression to outsiders of brisk and remunerative work, but it is cheerful to the farmer only when high prices are ruling. Far otherwise was it for many years before the War, when corn-growers heard only its moaning, despondent note, telling anything but a flattering tale, only varied by an occasional angry growl, when irregular feeding choked its satiated appet.i.te.

From the aesthetic standpoint uncouth and noisy machines, such as mowers and reapers, cannot be compared to a l.u.s.ty team of men with scythes, in their white shirts, backed by the flowering meadows; or a sunny field of busy harvesters facing a golden wall of corn, and leaving behind them the fresh-shorn stubble dotted with sheaves and nicely balanced shocks. The rattle of the machines, too, is discordant and out of harmony with the peaceful countryside.