Random reminder

Press, 26 November 1981, Page 27

Random reminder

HOARSE BEFORE THE CART

Back in the old days, reminisces a Mount Pleasant man, it was hard work being an agriculturalist. The farmer’s lad of todiy — while no less capable — can engage a gear and release a clutch, and roll up hay like underfelt. More hay in minutes than in the old days a dozen men could shift per hour, however harsh the encouragement of the landowner. Landowners aren’t what they used to be, he siys. And thank heavens for that. If they were, they would starve, for nobody today would work for them. He chuckles as he remembers back . . . The season was late, the hay at risk. The owner, driven by who knows what pressures, had been taking it out on the lads. The younger generation were workshy incompetents, a danger to themselves and others, unable to handle the simplest tools with safety. Few — and

good riddance — would live to reach 21. Those who did not impale themselves would get stepped on by Clydesdales. And so forth. After 12 hours of this, the labourers were glad enough to get away for their teas. Our man, last away, saw the owner tidy up. Metres tall, the last load of high-piled hay. Problem — the bar that had held the gateway against stock. What to do with it? Four metres long it was, of 75 x 100 heartwood. With a grunt, the owner slid it up on top of the hay. He checked the harness, patted the horses, snarled at our man to keep out from under, you careless little (deleted), picked up the reins . . . . . .And was laid out cold by a fourmetre length of timber falling out of the sky.