Shearing Time

Te Ao Hou, June 1967, Page 52

Shearing Time Down in the morning, coming closer to the wool-shed, are the panting sheep. Shepherds are whistling and yelling at their dogs to keep them in place, and to make the sore-footed sheep move faster to their destination. In the sheep-yards the lambs are being separated from their mothers and some are crying desperately for their mothers. There is clattering and banging of gates and tins to make the sheep move faster. ‘How many sheep have you got in there, boy?’ says one of the shearers. ‘About six hundred,’ replies one of the shepherds. The sheep are now in the shed. The chattering of people is loud but is soon drowned by the drowsy and moaning sound of motors that start up and the buzzing and clicking of the hand-piece with a comb-like cutter at one end to cut the sheep's wool. Then suddenly up get the bold and huge shearers striding towards their greasy doors. They fling them open, each grabs one of the sheep. With rippling muscles, they then dāg them back through the swinging doors, with their blood vessels showing through the skin on their faces, and strain in their arms. Picking up the greasy hand-piece they start cutting through wool which peels off the skin. As it does so, the wool sparkles in the sunlight. The shearers first start to cut off the wool from the belly down in between the hind legs and around the back, where they do the crutch with short-long blows. Then the eye wicking is done, and they move quickly half-way down the breast and come up the throat. They pull the wool over the head, then over the left-hand side with long blows. Now they have finished that side they move quickly down the last side of the sheep. After that the sheep plunges out through the opened porthole into the race ready to be counted out. Now a poem from a Wellington boy Cemented buildings, Sculptured and controlled; Rolling down to the sea Frowned upon by forests on the hills. —Ian Matheson (17)