LIFE’S IRONIES

Evening Star, Issue 22234, 11 January 1936, Page 2

LIFE’S IRONIES

“ FARMERS ARE ALL FOOLS "

("Written by M.E.S., for tlie 1 Evening Star.’]

Haymaking is an anxious time upon all farms, but more particularly in the high country, where sudden storms contend against the harvesting of a crop grown with great difficulty and at considerable expense, rendered, too, a vital necessity by the harsh barrenness of the winter months. During the long years of slump the farmers on these hills, unable to afford wages while their wool was almost unsaleable, had' made a habit of going from hayfield to hayfield and harvesting their crop by communal labour. The system had obvious advantages in those penniless days, but, in a district where the weather rarely remained unbroken for a fortnight at a time, it was undeniably a case of “ the devil take the hindmost.” “If we could only afford to pav labour and all get our crops in together, some poor devil wouldn’t lose his stack every year,’’ they had been wont to mourn. And now that ideal seemed likely of achievement; it was not a dairying district, for the land was too high and the climate too bleak, but the px-ospects for wool were a little better and they felt justified in paying haymakers at last; moreover, the presence of three unemployment camps in the neighbourhood made it appear likely that men would be found willing to supplement meagre earnings with the good, if hard-earned, wage of 2s 6d an hour in the nayfield. Therefore they agreed to break their friendly alliance, each go his own way, take advantage of the fine weather in December, and for once make hay while the sun really shone. So they sent word to the camps and the nearby town, cut their fields with happy unanimity on the same day, and looked forward to a quick and easy haymaking. The weather was kind and the crop heavy, so they sent for new cheque books, while their wives baked and brewed, making endless cakes and roasting great rounds of heef to satisfy the huge, appetites that the hay-field seems able to induce even in the hottest weather. On the second day the heavy crops were raked into long wind rows, and on the third, with the help of the army of men from the camps, the farmer expected to sweep the hay and build the stack. Therefore he rose at daylight and harnessed his team, eager to begin work Before the gang of helpers arrived, and casting anxious glances at the sky. Already the day "was hot and sultry; surely one of those complex depressions was moving relentlessly across the Tasman. to settle on his hay-field.

PLEADING FOR WORKERS. As he sat at his early breakfast the telephone bell rang sharply and his neighbour’s voice was agitated. “ Any men come to you yet? No. Nor here. Don’t believe we’ll get any. They say they’re not bothering' with harvesting this year, I rang town last night and offered to send for any who’d come out —but nothing doing.” By 8 o’clock the farmer’s whole family was in the held; his wife was driving one team, his 12-year-old son another, while he lumselt blasphemously ran out his car and made for the nearest unemployment camp. ‘‘They’ll come all right,” he muttered, remembering their -eagerness for work in the hard winter months. “If they see the car and the cash they’ll come. The camp was a large corrugated iron whare, pleasantly set upon the edge ot the bush; behind it two great nmus rose above spreading pungas to form a grove of cool, dim shade that showed dim v and inviting to the hot and weary farmer. The wharo was empty, but from the grove carno an answer to his call. li Come right along in: cion t stand on ceremony,” they urged him cordially. The half-dozen men wore lolling comfortably in the shade, two intent on newspapers, the others playing a languid game of cards. Agitated and breathless, the farmer explained Kis predicament, but six heads were shaken with surprising unanimity. “ Have a heart, .old man,” one urged pleasantly. “ I worked with a shovel and barrow on that blistering road all day yesterday; to-day’s mv day off. Now, I ask you, who’s going haymaking on his day off? ” The farmer explained that his need was urgent; he did not like to remind them of a hundred little kindnesses that had made their lot more endurable in the winter; instead, being a psychologist. he stressed the high wages, even offering 3s an hour in his extremity. “Don’t interrupt me,” said one of the readers languidly. “Pm just working out my bonus and calculating whether it’ll do Ellerslie or only one of the smaller meetings. Now I’ve got to stai't all over again.” The others were a trifle apologetic. “ Sorry, but you see how it is; if we oblige one, we’ve got to oblige the lot. We get our bonus next week, and we’re counting on a good holiday. We don't want to be held up by hay-making, Try some of the other camps.” EVERY DOG HIS DAY. Within two hours the farmer had tried both the other camps in the district, and had rung the nearest township with an offer of transport and 3s an hour to all workers. The same reply met him everywhere; there was a country race meeting next day; no use expecting any of the men to work till after then, or, indeed, till after Christmas.! “ But my hay won’t wait,” he was at last reduced to pleading. “ Sorry, but that’s vour funeral. If you will farm you must expect these little things,” they told him, not unreasonably. It ended, of course, in compromise; the old gang would rally round once more and give half a day in each field. “ Then we’ll all get about, half our crop in,” they said, adding, with the ridiculous optimism of farmers, “if the weather holds we’ll get it all.” Fpr the next three days it was a case of all hands in the field; wives deserted their kitchens and worked side by side with the men, for the gang decided to carry on early and late, dispense with formal meals, and set the women free to help in this urgent necessity. Therefore kegs of beer were placed under the shady trees, while on the kitchen tables great loaves were flanked by mighty roasts ; the youngest children kept the kettles always boiling, and when hunger clamoured too loudly the men made for the house and helped themselves to an informal meal. THE OLD GANG. Early and late the gang worked, tirelessly, silently, their faces grim as

they thought of their unused cheque books and of the smiling patronage of those unemployed who so obviously tlwught them fools to have struggled ali these years to maintain their independence. “ Keep on your farms at all costs,” had been the slogan. “Produce and go on producing; that’s the bsst help you can give your country.” ffhoy had obeyed unquestioningly, and yere now forced to go hat in hand and sue for the labour they were willing to pay in the most essential of all farmjig tasks. They had believed their logged independence a virtue, and now iearnt that it might in time be its own reward, but they need look for no other.

: For three days the weather held, and on the six farms half of every crop was harvested ; each day the heat had been more sultry and oppressive, the clouds blacker, the tormenting mob of sandflies more dense, until at last the rain came in a flood that sot the roads awish in two hours and would quickly rot the imstnckcd hay so painfully giown. The farmers pulled the cover of the last unfinished stack and rode gbomily down the road; they were dienched to the skin long before they rjached the unemployment camp, whore the open door showed a scene o! case and comfort. The card players acre once more intent upon their game; cjio of the readers had discarded his jiewspaper for a mouth organ ; the dlier was till absorbed, apparently, in aiding up Ids Christmas bonus..