- Location
- Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
Well we called that one right, and chose to sneak off to the Mid Devon show early last (sunny) Saturday with John’s calved heifer and her fluffy little babe. I had to call a halt to taking the served heifer as well. She was bubbling and rattling Friday, and coughing when she was ‘walked up’. Although her ears were up, and she was bright of eye, clearly it wouldn’t do. And sure enough, as we separated them to load ‘Wanda’, the younger one had 4” of green snot dangling from a nostril. It would hardly impress a judge, if nothing else.
So off we set. Despite the torrential rains on Friday, we managed to slither up onto the new show site, unload, and park up without incident. The sun was out from the off, and apart from the main thoroughfares, the site was soon drying nicely. I daresay a lot of punters got muddy shoes through the day, but it is an agricultural show after all. We did notice a wide variation in footwear, from sandals through to wellies. I’d opted to start the day in wellies, and change into leather boots later. Being a seasoned campaigner, I’d also remembered to pack my straw hat, and sure enough, I was soon needing it to prevent my extensive solar panel from overheating. My travelling companions hadn’t brought hats, and were nicely lobstered by tea time.
John didn’t get anywhere with his lovely cow, his Dad being famously tight with the cake bag being his main problem. But he enjoyed it anyway, and acquitted himself well. An unexpected bonus came when he borrowed a yearling bull off a pal, and lifted champion junior handler. I’d say he was lucky on the day, but I’m very pleased for him nonetheless.
Then later on, lounging in the cattle lines, some anonymous rascal did something very naughty. Getting talking to a Chinese visitor and her small child, he showed how you could milk fresh milk from a suitably quiet Belted Galloway into the palm of your hand, and drink it warm. The child looked fascinated, so this terrible chap generously aimed a few squirts into this chaps hand, whereupon the child slurped it up. History doesn’t relate the name of this reckless fiend, although those around him quickly realised that he might’ve sparked some kind of meltdown in various government departments, should his actions have been discovered. You never saw a thing…..OK?
Anyway, it was otherwise a very pleasant day. My colleagues kindly even allowed an old man to nap in the sun through the late afternoon. Quite salubrious.
Oh, and could someone tell the National Trust to grub out those wretched Turkey Oaks in the grounds.
Now then, speaking of international affairs. It comes to my attention that lots of yogurt weaving sandal wearers are very excited about the Faroe Islanders killing a load of Pilot Whales again. In their annual hunt- the ‘Grindadráp' or Grind- they herd pods of these unsuspecting creatures up onto shallow beaches, and slaughter them with great excitement. And the photo’s of the blood red water, and rows of dead whales understandably upset sensitive souls, who’re stridently calling the Faroese a lot of very unpleasant names.
But I’ve got little issue with the business. If the animals aren’t protected or endangered, and the whale meat is being sustainably used, I’m not sure that it’s such a big deal, and certainly little of our business. We seem to place such creatures somewhat apart from other prey animals, and I absolutely accept that industrial whaling by industrial nations had to stop. But the Faroese are a sparse, tenacious population of islanders, who’ve been clinging to a few rocks in the North Atlantic for centuries. Inevitably, they see this annual bonanza differently. Perhaps our problem is that they’re white Europeans, in western dress. Perhaps if they were looked a little more exotic, and wore grass skirts and feather headdresses it would be more acceptable.
In the grand scheme of things, industrial trawling is a far more damaging thing. And you could reasonably argue that our own intensive arable systems, supporting countless millions, have a far greater impact than the hunter/gatherer actions of a few Faroese. Looking at the photo’s, I don’t see traffic jams, rows of jerry built housing estates, shopping malls and endless ‘development’.
Interestingly, the Danish Government –of whom the Faroese are a protectorate- are clear in their support of the hunt. Perhaps there’s an element of wish fulfilment in the industrious, peaceful, and enlightened Danes, quietly glad there’s still an outpost of bloodthirsty Vikings left, who’ll hunt wild animals in this way.
Anyway, it looks like the animal rights nutters are working themselves into a lather about it, ignoring as usual the bigger questions.
About the author
Originally published in The Western Morning News, these articles are reproduced for the enjoyment of TFF members World-wide by kind permission of the author Anton Coaker and the WMN
Anton Coaker is a fifth generation farmer keeping suckler cows and flocks of hill sheep high on the Forest of Dartmoor and running a hardwood and mobile sawmill.
A prodigious writer and regular correspondent for The Western Morning News, NFU and The Farming Forum, Anton’s second book “The Complete Bullocks” is available fromwww.anton-coaker.co.uk
So off we set. Despite the torrential rains on Friday, we managed to slither up onto the new show site, unload, and park up without incident. The sun was out from the off, and apart from the main thoroughfares, the site was soon drying nicely. I daresay a lot of punters got muddy shoes through the day, but it is an agricultural show after all. We did notice a wide variation in footwear, from sandals through to wellies. I’d opted to start the day in wellies, and change into leather boots later. Being a seasoned campaigner, I’d also remembered to pack my straw hat, and sure enough, I was soon needing it to prevent my extensive solar panel from overheating. My travelling companions hadn’t brought hats, and were nicely lobstered by tea time.
John didn’t get anywhere with his lovely cow, his Dad being famously tight with the cake bag being his main problem. But he enjoyed it anyway, and acquitted himself well. An unexpected bonus came when he borrowed a yearling bull off a pal, and lifted champion junior handler. I’d say he was lucky on the day, but I’m very pleased for him nonetheless.
Then later on, lounging in the cattle lines, some anonymous rascal did something very naughty. Getting talking to a Chinese visitor and her small child, he showed how you could milk fresh milk from a suitably quiet Belted Galloway into the palm of your hand, and drink it warm. The child looked fascinated, so this terrible chap generously aimed a few squirts into this chaps hand, whereupon the child slurped it up. History doesn’t relate the name of this reckless fiend, although those around him quickly realised that he might’ve sparked some kind of meltdown in various government departments, should his actions have been discovered. You never saw a thing…..OK?
Anyway, it was otherwise a very pleasant day. My colleagues kindly even allowed an old man to nap in the sun through the late afternoon. Quite salubrious.
Oh, and could someone tell the National Trust to grub out those wretched Turkey Oaks in the grounds.
Now then, speaking of international affairs. It comes to my attention that lots of yogurt weaving sandal wearers are very excited about the Faroe Islanders killing a load of Pilot Whales again. In their annual hunt- the ‘Grindadráp' or Grind- they herd pods of these unsuspecting creatures up onto shallow beaches, and slaughter them with great excitement. And the photo’s of the blood red water, and rows of dead whales understandably upset sensitive souls, who’re stridently calling the Faroese a lot of very unpleasant names.
But I’ve got little issue with the business. If the animals aren’t protected or endangered, and the whale meat is being sustainably used, I’m not sure that it’s such a big deal, and certainly little of our business. We seem to place such creatures somewhat apart from other prey animals, and I absolutely accept that industrial whaling by industrial nations had to stop. But the Faroese are a sparse, tenacious population of islanders, who’ve been clinging to a few rocks in the North Atlantic for centuries. Inevitably, they see this annual bonanza differently. Perhaps our problem is that they’re white Europeans, in western dress. Perhaps if they were looked a little more exotic, and wore grass skirts and feather headdresses it would be more acceptable.
In the grand scheme of things, industrial trawling is a far more damaging thing. And you could reasonably argue that our own intensive arable systems, supporting countless millions, have a far greater impact than the hunter/gatherer actions of a few Faroese. Looking at the photo’s, I don’t see traffic jams, rows of jerry built housing estates, shopping malls and endless ‘development’.
Interestingly, the Danish Government –of whom the Faroese are a protectorate- are clear in their support of the hunt. Perhaps there’s an element of wish fulfilment in the industrious, peaceful, and enlightened Danes, quietly glad there’s still an outpost of bloodthirsty Vikings left, who’ll hunt wild animals in this way.
Anyway, it looks like the animal rights nutters are working themselves into a lather about it, ignoring as usual the bigger questions.
About the author
Originally published in The Western Morning News, these articles are reproduced for the enjoyment of TFF members World-wide by kind permission of the author Anton Coaker and the WMN
Anton Coaker is a fifth generation farmer keeping suckler cows and flocks of hill sheep high on the Forest of Dartmoor and running a hardwood and mobile sawmill.
A prodigious writer and regular correspondent for The Western Morning News, NFU and The Farming Forum, Anton’s second book “The Complete Bullocks” is available fromwww.anton-coaker.co.uk
